When Shad pondered how that wasn’t fair, he got mad at the One who had effectively set his parents up for their financial hardship. If only they had been able to get hold of a lawyer that would have fought to help them achieve their goal and not charged them as much or more as that woman took off with, they wouldn’t be in this fix now.

Well, if the world needed more lawyers like that, then Shad should become one.

Of all the crazy ideas he ever had, Shad dismissed that notion as his most deranged. Yet the idea dogged him, seeming to pop up most readily whenever Shad considered his parents’ circumstances. Obsession wasn’t anything new to him, but there was something different about this one.

A year and a half before Pap went into the hospital, Shad finally figured out that hearing God had to be a more profound experience than hearing Charlton Heston’s voice in one’s head. So he asked Pap just how it was supposed to work. It turned out the experience could manifest in several ways, and one was a compulsion to do something that served others – especially if it was something the person didn’t want to do.

Great, Shad figured. He was finally able to get in touch with his inner light, and it had to be this.

But Shad figured he owed it to Mam and Pap to give in to divine will. Not doing so seemed like a mockery of all they had sacrificed. And now ... and now Shad felt like he had been set up, as well.

Pap’s voice broke up Shad’s thoughts. “I expect the reward in the end will be of higher value than what I paid.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Shad muttered into his hands.

“Well, I’m not.” Pap smirked. “But even if I were, what legacy would I rather leave behind? That I gave in to my weaker self, or that I defied the odds to give a child in need a better future?” He glanced toward Shad. “I have absolutely no idea why we had to keep you out of state custody, but I gained a fine, honorable son by doing so. Yeah, the reward outweighs the price.”

Pap’s words were supposed to be uplifting, but Shad felt more weight added to his guilt. He knew the reason why he had to stay out of foster care, and if Pap knew that reason, he wouldn’t be so proud of this twisted, wicked son he had been burdened with.

A couple of minutes of silence passed before Pap spoke again. “Maybe I should just let you figure out who tried to kill you and almost got Dulsie instead.”

There was that sensation again. It had to work its way through all the layers of despair and misery and torment, but it also caused a bit of distraction from them. It was that element Shad usually tried to keep tightly reined, so it wasn’t used to coming out much. Even now, as it tried to flex some muscle, Shad told himself to keep it on a short leash. If it controlled him instead of the other way around, Shad wouldn’t be much use to Dulsie. But he also realized he’d have to cut it a little slack if Shad wanted to accomplish more than claim her assailant was a coward missing part of his genitalia.

“We’re coming up on the motel.” Pap broke into the latest round of silence. “Which room is yours?”

Chapter Eighteen

A man that does not know how to be angry does not know how to be good.

--Henry Ward Beecher

After Shad gathered up the few things he had in the motel room, most of which had never really been unpacked, Pap commented on the scarcity of his belongings, especially footwear appropriate for a farm. So on the way back to the house Pap stopped the truck at a sundries store and Shad bought a comb and cheap pair of deck shoes, which he could wear without socks and therefore avoid having to buy any of those as well. Pap agreed Shad could probably borrow a few of his clothes until Shad could retrieve more of his own garments. Even though Pap was taller, they were still able to wear basically the same size.

Shad’s need for clothes quickly became apparent when they returned to the farm and Pap commented that he needed to take a shower and suggested Shad do the same. So after Shad got a pair of olive shorts and a khaki shirt from Pap, he deposited his few belongings in the bedroom that used to be his and took the change of clothes to the downstairs bathroom to clean up.

As Shad looked in the medicine cabinet mirror he debated whether or not to shave. His beard was light and slow to grow, which was the main reason Shad had never grown one although he was inclined to copy Pap. He couldn’t look scruffy in court. The combination of his thin beard, hairless chest, and propensity to readily turn brown come springtime, had caused some speculation about the ethnicity of the guy who sired him. Although that woman was a brunette with brown eyes, it was obvious the Y half of Shad’s DNA had been provided by someone even swarthier. Although his birth certificate stated that he had been born in Tulsa, Oklahoma, the identity of the father was designated as “unknown.” Shad considered it par for the course that the genetic material provided by some dude he didn’t know or care about prevented him from emulating the appearance of the man whom he considered to be his father. He might as well shave.

After his shower Shad draped the slacks, which could only be dry cleaned, over his shoulder, and carried the rest of his clothes to the nearby laundry room. As he tossed them into the wicker hamper Shad caught a glimpse of some clothes soaking in the utility tub next to the washer. He froze when Shad realized what he was seeing.

The blue jeans and tan shirt were darkened by stains that also left wispy trails in the water. Blood. They were Pap’s clothes, but Shad quickly surmised whose blood was on them and how it got there. Nobody told him just how Dulsie made it to the hospital. He closed the lid on the hamper and walked into the kitchen where Pap was heating something in the microwave.

“Dulsie called you, didn’t she?” Yet more guilt washed through him.

Pap was wearing different jeans and a burgundy button-down shirt, and he glanced almost nonchalantly toward Shad as he opened the refrigerator.

“You know I can get to your place faster than the sheriff.”

“You could’ve been shot. Or killed.”

“You remember one of the reasons why we Delaneys are considered to be such a contrary lot?” Pap began pulling various containers from the refrigerator. “We’ve always maintained that while pacifism was an ideal, until the rest of the world embraced that belief, we’d fight anybody who threatened our families. Luckily none of us since Quaid have ever had the need to pull a gun on another person, but I was ready to do whatever it took to protect my family.”

Shad shook his head. “This is all my fault. I should’ve been home. I shouldn’t even be here. You’ve already risked too much.”

Pap shot him that familiar glare as he closed the refrigerator with his foot because his arms were full of sandwich fixings and a pitcher of tea. “We’ve already been through that weed patch.” He set the containers on the counter as the microwave went off. “I’ll agree with you that you’ve made a mistake. But if you learn from it and make amends, you’ll have grown. It’s all part of being human. It’s the reason we keep hitting those road bumps in life.”

“Road bumps sown with nails and knives and broken glass,” Shad grumbled. “Rusty razor blades. And trip wires.”

“Don’t forget the land mines.” Pap stepped over to the microwave. “You can make yourself a sandwich. And we’ve got mixed vegetables left over from last night.”

At first Shad wanted to refuse to eat, but it had been two days since his last meal and his stomach started pulsating at the prospect of food. He also hadn’t had anything to drink all day.

After Shad fixed his lunch and sat at the handmade table kitty-corner from Pap, they bowed their heads in a silent grace before eating. Or rather, Shad prayed for Dulsies’s recovery and didn’t even mention the food.