Chapter 3

The sun was setting as I walked up to the farmhouse.

With Sadie safe, the dread in my chest was replaced by a buzzing anticipation.

Sure enough, the house was in an uproar.

Margaret was standing in the east bedroom, staring at the bed smeared with yellow filth. She slapped her thighs, wailing, "Lord have mercy! You are trying to kill me! Jeez!"

A few poop-stained bills lay on the floor.

I allowed a tiny smirk to touch my lips before masking it with shock. I rushed in. "What happened? Don't cry. You'll make yourself sick!"

I went to help her up, but she shoved me hard.

"Get off me! You useless bitch! If you hadn't run off to town, none of this would have happened!"

I stumbled back, letting my head crack against the doorframe with a loud thud. "Ow!"

Albert was in the corner, giggling. He had dug up his treasures. "Beef... bork..." he mumbled, clutching the soy sauce and the poison bottle before toddling toward the kitchen.

I watched him go. I saw him reach the stove. But I did nothing.

Margaret chased after him, screaming, just in time to see him upend the green bottle into the bubbling pot.

"Oh, sweet Jesus!" Margaret shrieked, turning to me. "Emily!"

I lumbered to the stove, weighed down by my pregnancy. Playing dumb, I asked, "What's wrong?"

Looking down, I saw the meat swimming in a dark mess.

Margaret was beside herself with rage. Forgetting her usual deference to Albert, she snatched the pesticide from him and threw it into the stove.

Albert plopped down and bawled like a baby.

Margaret swayed, nearly collapsing.

I stepped to steady her, frowning at the bubbling pot. "That beef's got poison in it now. It'll kill us. Should I dump it?"

Before I finished, her palm cracked across my face.

"You lazy bitch! I told you to watch him, and you sneak off! Now you wanna waste good food? That half-pound of beef cost me three bags of bread in trade!"

Her spit flecked my burning cheek.

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I bowed my head, apologizing.

The slap must've worn her out. She slumped on a stool, glaring. "What are you standing there for? Change the sheets and wash them!

"Don't eat till they're spotless!"

James trudged in with his hoe. "Smelled that goodness from way down the field. I knew it was your braised beef, Mama."

I dropped the heavy, reeking sheets and ran to him, sobbing. "James! Your dad went to the bedroom and pooped all over the bed. He even used the hidden cash to wipe himself!"

"What! That money was for my new boots! All gone?"

His eyes bulged, the hoe clanging to the ground. He stormed into the kitchen to confront his mother.

Margaret scolded me, "Because that wasteful bitch ran off to fetch the kid! Ten bucks was torn up and used to wipe his ass by that old fool!"

Then, her tone softened, manipulative and sweet. "James, honey, I'll find another way to get the money. But he's your father. You're the only son. You can't hate us for getting old."

She set a plate of glistening braised beef in front of him. It looked delicious. It smelled divine. Three peeled eggs sat in the gravy.

James stopped frowning. He pinched a piece of meat and tossed it into his mouth. "Hot! So hot!"

Margaret grumbled but smiled dotingly, "Look at you. About to be a daddy and still eating like a kid."

"That's because your cooking is the best, Mom!"

They laughed together, the lost money and the feces-covered bed forgotten.

After a bit, Margaret set the table and called out, "Emily! Come eat. You can wash later."

Sitting squarely in the middle was a small plate of braised beef, perfectly balanced between fat and lean.

The smell filled the room. My mouth didn't water.

I knew it wasn't food. It was poisonous.

James dumped half the dish into his cornbread mush, grease shining on his lips. "Delicious! Just tastes a little off. Too much soy, Mama?"

I sipped my mush, staring hungrily at the beef, and blurted, "Albert poured paraquat in the pot!"

James choked, coughing hard.

"That beef..."

"Don't listen to her!" Margaret yelled. "I washed that meat four times! It's perfectly clean. Look at her, eyeing it like a starving dog. She just wants to scare us so she can eat it all herself!"

She glared at me with pure venom. "Go feed Albert. There's none for you."

I set down my bowl, obediently going to the back room.

Albert was hunched on the bed. "Sadie... Sadie..." he mumbled.

I shook my head. His eyes drifted to my six-month pregnant belly.

"Balloon... balloon... pop!"

He giggled, raising a jagged fingernail to poke me.

Revulsion hit me when I saw his yellowed teeth and filthy nails.

Just before he touched me, I shoved the bowl in front of his face. "Look! Yummy beef! So good!"

He forgot about popping the "balloon." He grabbed the meat with his bare hands and shoved it into his mouth, chewing greedily.

Out in the kitchen, James let out two massive burps. Three empty bowls were stacked beside him.

Margaret took a piece of cornbread, wiped the last smear of toxic grease from the plate, and stuffed it into her mouth. "Can't waste good food," she mumbled.

They finished full and happy. I scrubbed pots and pans to clean the stove.

As I washed the dishes, I looked over at the furnace. Our black dog was lying there. Its eyes were shut tight. Its body was stiff and cold. It was dead.

I suddenly remembered that afternoon, when Margaret was washing the "clean" meat, she had tossed a scrap to the dog.