[ All of it, all of it, from the way he calls himself a ghost to what he thinks he deserves to what he thinks she is. The first time he's ever reached out to touch her, and it's with a squeeze of his hand like he's saying goodbye, like he's shutting some door between them, and she can't, she won't let him. ]
You want to talk to me about mistakes? About abandoning the people who depend on you? You think I have a single leg to stand on with any of this?
[ She gets up with a swift economy of movement, pins and needles tingling through her legs as she takes the few short strides to the hearth, reaches for the framed photograph there. ]
We were home one night, all of us. Me, Willa, Waverly, all sitting around the table listening while Daddy told us stories about our great-great grandaddy, Wyatt Earp. He was cleaning Peacemaker and putting it back together. It was a normal night, quiet. And then we heard them outside.
[ She turns back to look at him, the frame in her fingers, her grip a little too tight. Her memory echoes with the sounds of breaking glass and screams, of Daddy's shouts. ]
There were seven of them that came to the Homestead. One of them smashed through a window and grabbed Willa. The last time I ever saw her, she was kicking and screaming as they dragged her outside, broken glass raining down everywhere, right before they broke down the door and grabbed my father.
[ The words come evenly, but there's a feeling of relief behind it, of something that's built up too much behind too fragile a wall; a dam about to burst, a storm about to break. But she measures it out, holding it back under ruthless control, keeping her eyes on him, waiting for the moment when whatever admiration — maybe even affection — shatters under the weight of all her sins.
He doesn't deserve to stand in her shadow? She shouldn't get to be that person to him. She shouldn't even get to touch him, no much how cleaner it makes her feel. She should never have turned around in that blizzard and let him find her, she should never have gone to his cabin with a bottle of Scotch and an apology on her lips. If she hadn't done any of those things, maybe she wouldn't be here cracking open her ribcage and reaching inside to offer her secrets, bloody and blackened, because if he doesn't deserve forgiveness, if all he deserves is to wander this hellscape they're in, then so does she. ]
They were dragging him away, laughing, they were gonna, they were gonna kill him. So I picked up Peacemaker for the very first time, and I tried to shoot them. I tried to protect him, I tried to protect Willa, but I missed. I took one shot, and it hit my father in the back. I killed him.
[ The few quick steps she takes feel like she's pushing against an invisible hand, but she takes them to stand in front of him and shove the photo at him, the photo that's all she has left of Willa, of the life she had before that horrible night. Three girls, dressed in white, carrying flowers and smiling. She taps herself; a coltish girl with her hair in braids, walking in the grass. ]
cw: mention of accidental patricide, child abduction, murder
[ All of it, all of it, from the way he calls himself a ghost to what he thinks he deserves to what he thinks she is. The first time he's ever reached out to touch her, and it's with a squeeze of his hand like he's saying goodbye, like he's shutting some door between them, and she can't, she won't let him. ]
You want to talk to me about mistakes? About abandoning the people who depend on you? You think I have a single leg to stand on with any of this?
[ She gets up with a swift economy of movement, pins and needles tingling through her legs as she takes the few short strides to the hearth, reaches for the framed photograph there. ]
We were home one night, all of us. Me, Willa, Waverly, all sitting around the table listening while Daddy told us stories about our great-great grandaddy, Wyatt Earp. He was cleaning Peacemaker and putting it back together. It was a normal night, quiet. And then we heard them outside.
[ She turns back to look at him, the frame in her fingers, her grip a little too tight. Her memory echoes with the sounds of breaking glass and screams, of Daddy's shouts. ]
There were seven of them that came to the Homestead. One of them smashed through a window and grabbed Willa. The last time I ever saw her, she was kicking and screaming as they dragged her outside, broken glass raining down everywhere, right before they broke down the door and grabbed my father.
[ The words come evenly, but there's a feeling of relief behind it, of something that's built up too much behind too fragile a wall; a dam about to burst, a storm about to break. But she measures it out, holding it back under ruthless control, keeping her eyes on him, waiting for the moment when whatever admiration — maybe even affection — shatters under the weight of all her sins.
He doesn't deserve to stand in her shadow? She shouldn't get to be that person to him. She shouldn't even get to touch him, no much how cleaner it makes her feel. She should never have turned around in that blizzard and let him find her, she should never have gone to his cabin with a bottle of Scotch and an apology on her lips. If she hadn't done any of those things, maybe she wouldn't be here cracking open her ribcage and reaching inside to offer her secrets, bloody and blackened, because if he doesn't deserve forgiveness, if all he deserves is to wander this hellscape they're in, then so does she. ]
They were dragging him away, laughing, they were gonna, they were gonna kill him. So I picked up Peacemaker for the very first time, and I tried to shoot them. I tried to protect him, I tried to protect Willa, but I missed. I took one shot, and it hit my father in the back. I killed him.
[ The few quick steps she takes feel like she's pushing against an invisible hand, but she takes them to stand in front of him and shove the photo at him, the photo that's all she has left of Willa, of the life she had before that horrible night. Three girls, dressed in white, carrying flowers and smiling. She taps herself; a coltish girl with her hair in braids, walking in the grass. ]
I was twelve years old.