How Hard
By: Ian Cahill
Tags: Short Story, Alone, Fiction, Jail, Family

How Hard

A short story

Cassie sat in the backseat of her brother’s beat up 1981 Cadillac Coupe DeVille. The leather seats had worn and hardened from years in the Arizona sun. She shifted her butt left and right as the tires rolled in and out of the deepened tire tracks of the dirt road below them.

Chuck drove with determination. It was nearing 9 o’clock, and he wanted to get to the house before it got dark. He knew Cassie was growing restless in the back even though she didn’t speak. It was her long and exasperated sighs that dug into his brain. He pressed on the gas pedal.

Cassie stared long and hard at the rear-view mirror, but it was becoming too dark to make out any details as they passed through the barren plains. She was planning out the evening in her head, wanting nothing more than to make it home and relax.

The day had taken a toll on her and she prepared to put it all behind her. She should have sat in the front seat on the long drive home from the penitentiary, but she didn’t feel like comparing stories with Chuck on how it all had gone down.

The Cadillac skid into the gravel driveway and came to an awkward halt. Chuck didn’t wait for Cassie to remove her seatbelt before he pulled the door open and closed in one fell swoop. He charged into the house with heavy feet.

Cassie dragged herself out of the car and meandered into the house to find her brother. As she entered the house, the smell of burning stuck to the inside of her nose. She picked up her pace and burst into the living room to find Chuck throwing clothes and pictures into the lit fireplace.

“Chuck, what are you doing?” she cried.

Chuck fighting back tears, “If they won’t kill him, then I will. He doesn’t deserve any of this shit.”

Cassie took a step back. She could see the rage fill up behind his eyes. It was the same look of desperation she had seen in her father. Chuck kicked over the coffee table, sending its contents flying.

“YOU CLEAN THAT UP!!” she screamed, hoping to focus his attention. Her ears started ringing even before the ashtray hit the wall and shattered into a hundred pieces. She covered her eyes and backed out of the room.

And that was that. Cassie was alone. She had no one. Not her dead mother or the father who probably killed her. And now not even Chuck, who would no doubt end up following the path of one or the other.

Every step leading up to her bedroom seemed like years of wasted potential and heartache, yet the further up she climbed, the stronger her resolve became. By the time she made it to her bedroom, she didn’t hesitate to grab the suitcase out of her closet and begin filling it with clothes.

She couldn’t stay, not there with her brother. He couldn’t protect her. She had to leave for his good and hers. She was quiet as she slipped through the room, choosing clothes and keepsakes that would be most useful.

Occasionally, she would stop, wipe the tears from her eyes and listen. If Chuck came up and saw what she was up to, she wasn’t sure how he would react. She didn’t want to take the chance.

Once her suitcase was full, she pulled it closed and slid it under her bed. Then she allowed herself to collapse onto her bed. Her body ached and her mind swam in a sea of heartbreak. She didn’t want to eat or do anything much beyond plotting her departure.

Eventually, Chuck made his way upstairs. He was far calmer by then and squeezed Cassie’s arm as he tried to justify his anger. He could barely keep his eyes open and after a few minutes of apologizing and not getting a response, sulked off to his room for the night.

Cassie relaxed a little when Chuck closed the door. She pulled the blinds up on her window and curled up with a pillow as she gazed at the fat, heavy moon outside. It made her think of her mom. Her face floated around in Cassie’s mind until she dozed off.