Page 2 of The Way the Heart Breaks: Jade’s Story

“It’s fine, I⁠—”

Jasper yells. “It’s not fine. You need to get it cleaned up.”

“I—”

“You don’t know what’s in this water. You could end up getting some nasty infection and losing a leg.” Jason scolds me like I’m a toddler and not less than two years younger than them.

Ryan pulls out my mud-covered sneaker and holds it out to me. “You should listen to them. Let us get things cleared out down here and find a better place for you to cross.”

Feeling my throat tingle and eyes start to burn, I peel off my backpack and hand it to him as I take off my sneaker. “I drew a picture of what it could look like.”

“We’re not stupid, Jade, we know what we’re doing.” Jasper calls after me as I turn and rinse my sneaker off in the water.

“It was my idea.” I mumble under my breath as I cautiously wade through the water to the bank, eyes brimming with tears, tears I will not share with them. I’m not a baby.

I fight back the urge to turn and glare at them, hoping they feel just a fraction of the hurt and anger swirling inside of me. But as mad as I am, I don’t want them to ever feel like this, like they don’t belong, especially Ry.

At the bottom of the bank, I shove my foot in my sneaker and feel the mud squish under my feet and between my toes. It’s disgusting, but I press on and climb up the bank to trudge back through the woods toward ‘the porch’.

The walk back always seems longer, my body heavier even though I gave Ry the backpack. Pushing past the trees, I try to focus on solving that mystery and find its logic, just to stop myself from crying, which is becoming increasingly difficult.

Every branch that catches my hair or prickly green that pokes at me hurts worse now than on the way in and slows me down. The birds aren’t singing now; they sound like they’re mocking me, like not-so-silent witnesses to my embarrassment.

My shin throbs, and my muddy shoes feel even more gross with each step. As if this doesn’t suck enough, I know Mom's going to be so disappointed in me for being such a mess.

I will not cry.

Stepping past the trees and off the path in the forest and into the yard, I quickly run past the old tree house and toward the back of the house. I head straight to where the hose is hooked up and hanging above a metal wash tub, where Mom insists the boys wash off before coming in after they’ve helped do wood, worked with Uncle John doing hay, or made a mess of themselves playing outside. I run fast too. I crouch low and duck under the windows as I pass.

When I hear REO Speedwagon’s I Can’t Fight This Feeling playing, I’m sure there’s little chance I’ve been spotted. They’re having one of their ‘Redneck kitchen dates’ where they dance close and sing softly to each other. Mom told me once that it has been a weekly tradition since they got married, when she was just eighteen, and that she had to save every penny because they got pregnant on their wedding night. The boys are fifteen, so it’s gone on long enough that it’s become a tradition. They now have a monthly date too. Mom always dresses up and looks like a movie star, and they never get home before midnight. For the past two years, we’ve been able to stay home without a babysitter, but our cousin Troy or Aunt Josie drops off pizza and a movie on those nights. Sometimes Ry comes over, too, even though we’re not supposed to have company. I was worried at first, but Jasper reminded me that Ry is family.

I move quickly and quietly as I wash my shoes and my leg, scheming up a way to hide the evidence of my injury, so Mom doesn’t call my Aunt Maggie —who’s a nurse now— and get her worried for nothing, or worse, end up at the ER…again. It stings, but not as badly as prior cuts have, and I power through, making sure there is no dirt or debris stuck to it. I know I won’t lose a leg, but still, it’s best not to chance it.

The song changes to Unchained Melody. I smile, knowing this is the song Dad always plays when they dance even closer; it’s their favorite, so I have time. I fill up the wash tub Mom uses to soak the boys’ clothes when they’re super grimy, add some soap, and put in my soiled shoes. By the time that’s done, the song replays. Once the shoes are soaking, I assess my leg again and rinse the suds that sprayed onto it and stung. Shaking my head, I realize this isn’t something I can easily hide. I dismiss the idea of wearing pants because, even at summer's end, it’s still sweltering hot out and would certainly rouse suspicion. I head over, sit on the steps on the back deck, and wait for them to finish their ‘date’.

Beside me is a gallon jug of sun tea brewing, and I’d give everything, well, except my left leg, to have a glass right now. But I rest my chin on my knees and wait for one of two things to happen, the boys to come back or the song to stop.

When I hear the screen door open behind me, I turn and look back at Mom and Dad.

“They leave you behind?” Dad asks.

I shake my head. “I got my foot stuck in the mud, so I came back to soak my sneakers.” I stand up. “I scraped my leg on a log, too. It’s not bad. I don’t⁠—”

Mom walks around me and looks down. “Oh, my goodness, Jade, let’s get you inside and get it cleaned up to get a better look.” She looks at Dad. “Jack, she’s hurt.”

Dad winks at me, trying to hide a smirk, and asks, “Do you think you’ll make it?”

“Yeah, I think I will.” I grin.

Hand to heart, Mom gasps. “Stop poking fun at me. Our children, this family is my whole world.”

“Love that about you, Janet,” he says as he holds the door open for us and gives Mom a wink. “But she has a scraped shin, she’s going to be just fine.”

Looking down at my leg wrapped in enough tape and gauze that it might be confused as a cast from a distance, I catch Dad chuckling silently as he stands in front of the charcoal grill flipping the steaks.

“Mom does boo-boos in a big way.”

“Sweetheart, she does wife no different.” He smiles. “How lucky are we?”