Page 64 of Wasted Oil

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

Grabbing my phone from my pocket seeing my sister Sarah’s name on the screen. I excuse myself rudely and click to answer.

"Rhett, you need to get to the farm now—” I hurry my steps walking to the door behind the bar to get more privacy to hear.

"Sarah, calm down. What's going on?”

She’s frantically breathing like she’s been running, crying or maybe both.

“Fire. The hive is on fire.” I hear a yell and hard sobs in the background of the call. I know it’s Ma. Her pride and joy was the hive.

Son of a bitch. I tighten my grip on the phone in frustration. If it’s not one thing it’s another, but this, this is enough—I’ve had enough. Hanging up I throw the door open and head to my prime suspect.

“Andres, you have some nerve.” I grit through my teeth causing everyone’s attention to be on me. I square up to him, but he doesn’t move.

“Parker, what are you talking about?” Clenching my fist the rage rises within me. I see Mel stepping towards us with caution.

“You know what I’m talking about.” I say.

“Rhett, what’s wrong?” Mel mutters coming up next to me. If we weren’t surrounded by all these people and here for a purpose, nothing would stop me from throwing a punch to knock the Oil king off his pedestal. I'm fuming so much that I don’t think before responding and I wish my brain wasn’t so heated with rage because it’s added to the long list of apologies. I snap my head looking straight into ice.

“You and your toxic family is what's wrong.” Stepping away from them I pass Alex saying I’m sorry and storm out.

Dial tone rings through my phone.

"Look man, I don't wanna hear it about not going to the book release par—” I cut him off before he finishes.

"Johnny, I don’t care right now. I need your help, can you get to the farm now please. There’s a fire.”

I hear shuffling over the phone."On my way.” Anyone can say what they want about Johnny, and yes, I myself have things to say too but one thing about Johnny is that he does and will show up for me when it's important.

From a distance I can see the flashing red and blue lights with the soundsof sirens from the fire trucks.

I cannot fucking believe this is happening again. Only this time, it’s worse.

Full weight on the gas, I tear down the long dirt road leading to the farm. As soon as I reach the house I drift over the loose gravel coming to an instant stop. I climb out of the truck leaving the door open and run to where my family has gathered watching the damage unfold. I reach for my mother, who is now standing eerily calm with her eyes staring straight ahead, and I can see the flames reflect off them as I stand almost in front of her. I brace my hands on either side of her to try and turn her away but she doesn’t move.

“Come on Ma, let’s get you inside away from the smoke.” Her feet finally start moving and I hold her close to my side as we walk up the front porch steps into the house. We’ve all gathered in the kitchen and Sarah has started heating up the stove, warming up some tea.

"Have they ruled out the cause?” I ask for anyone to answer.

“They haven’t said yet.” Sarah says, reaching in the cabinet over the sink to grab a few mugs.

Sitting here, seeing the lights flash through our windows brings an ache to my chest of the memory when I came home to find out my dad was gone.

"Maybe we should think of selling the farm.” My eyes dart to my mother as clattering of ceramic hits the counter top like it’s been dropped, verifying It wasn’t just my imagination.

"FUCK NO.” I say loudly not caring to apologize for my manners.

"Absolutely not mom, why would you even suggest that?” Sarah says swiftly.

"Bean, we would have to clean up the mess then rebuild and replace everything starting from scratch. We can’t afford that on top of everything else for the farm.” My sister flinches at the mention of her nickname that has felt long lost.

She was the oldest, first born. I remember hearing the many stories of when she was born, she was scrunched up like a little bean all the time and also mom's obsession with vanilla bean ice cream from making and consuming while pregnant. From the first doctors visit she was always dad's little bean. That was how my sister got not just her nickname, but it became her middle name. The only person who ever mentions that name is Ma because I see the way it effects Sarah. She regains her composer in not backing down.

"We are not giving up, dad wouldn’t.” Her eyes start to gloss over at the mention of him. Whistling sounds off letting us know the tea is ready and Sarah fills three mugs. The smell of chamomile with honey brings a sense of calmness to me that helps simmer my hot head down.

Reaching over I grab my moms hands in mine and Sarah places hers over mine.

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