A Place Worth Living Read online

  A Place Worth Living

  B.D.Grant

  A Place Worth Living is fictional work. Characters, places, names, and incidents are used fictitiously or are products of B.D. Grant’s imagination. Any resemblances are entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, address B.D.Grant,LLC, POBox 1296,Sulphur,La.70664

  Copyright © <2016>

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the U.S. By B.D. Grant LLC.

  ISBN:978-0-9973891-0-4

  1

  In the woods

  The sound of an alarm clock going off fills the otherwise silent room. My dad groans from the twin size bed against the wall. He hits the snooze button, bathing the deer camp in peaceful silence. Jake stirs from the bunk bed above me. I roll over as Dad crawls out of his warm nest of blankets.

  “Taylor, if you’re coming then get dressed.”

  It’s too early to get out of bed even on a mattress that I’m pretty sure is older than the Bible, but if I don’t get up Dad will leave me and one of them will most likely kill a trophy buck on the last weekend of deer season.

  “If I don’t hear you moving soon then Jake and I are leaving you.”

  I know him so well.

  The cold wakes me up a little as I throw my messy hair in a bun to get it out of the way. Dad and Jake are already done getting dressed so they leave the room to give me some privacy. I try to put on my orange camouflage gear quick but it’s way too early in the morning. My top speed right now is about as fast as my dad using the bathroom. Long strands of light hair are surrounding my feet when I pull on my boots. Each strand reminds me how much I appreciate when Mom joins us on these hunting trips. She didn’t come along this time so I don’t have anyone to take the blame for me for all the hair on the floor. I use the toe of my boot to sweep the hair under the bunk bed.

  Dad and Jake are waiting on me in the truck as I climb into the backseat.

  “I call shot gun for the drive back to the camp,” I tell Jake who has already claimed the passenger seat as his for the drive out.

  “You’re too late I already called it. Your dad heard me.”

  “Nice try, but it only counts if the person wanting the passenger seat hears you call shot gun so I still get it.”

  “All right, one more word from either of you before we get there and you are both riding in the back seat holding hands.”

  Not a chance that will ever happen. I would rather cut my hands off before holding Jake’s disgusting hand. He should have stayed home since his dad couldn’t come because he had a last minute flight to make. It’s bad enough my parents love him like the son they never had, but the girls I go to school with have been drooling over him since he was a sophomore. Last year was the worst; listening to them talk about the dark-haired senior and how he was taking the basketball team to state. He would show off in front of them with trick shots or flash his abs while he wiped the sweat from his face. Okay, so he’s good at sports, big whoop. They haven’t been forced to spend any time with him or they would know he is annoying, self-centered, and doesn’t brush his teeth. For years I’ve heard his mom, Aunt Beth, yelling at him for not brushing his teeth in the mornings when it was her turn to bring Jake and me to school. With a son like Jake she was constantly watching over him and saying whispered prayers at his basketball games that he wouldn’t get hurt or in a fight. It’s gotten better for her now that he spends so much time with his dad since graduating. His dad is far more laid back and doesn’t seem to get upset no matter what Jake does. Uncle Chuck is a private pilot for a wealthy businessman in Texas who travels throughout the country for work.

  Jake and I aren’t really related but our parents are long time friends. I even have an old picture of my dad, Uncle Chuck, and a taller guy all wearing matching school uniforms with S.A. embroidered on the left breast. They are so close that when Uncle Chuck is out of town Jake and his mom spend a lot of time at our house. They live a block away but if I cut through old Mr. Thomas’s yard that connects to our backyard then, on foot, it takes two minutes to be at their front door. When Jake showed up by himself with his bag and gun in tow for the trip Dad asked him where his dad was.

  “He got called out this morning for a trip to Texas. He said he might be gone all weekend so here I am.”

  “That’s a little last minute.”

  “Yeah, I figured it had to have been important for him to skip this weekend since it’s his last chance to bag that big buck he keeps seeing on his feeder camera.”

  Dad looked suspiciously at our house, like he was looking through it to Jake’s house. Jake looks from me to dad, “It’s alright if I tag along huh?” Nope, not on my birthday weekend. It’s bad enough Mom’s too sick to make it. Uncle Chuck’s presence is the only thing that makes Jake tolerable to be around.

  “Of course it is,” Dad says while he gets back to packing up the truck. “Throw me your bag and load up.”

  I knew then that I would probably have to share my deer stand with him since mine is the only one big enough for two. His dad’s lease is too far for us to just drop him off at and make it to ours early enough to get set up.

  It took Dad a month to build my stand, only having time after work to do it and one day for me to spray paint the plywood camouflage. Uncle Chuck had to help him set the stand up on its piers at the lease. It now sits proudly at eighteen-feet high and four-feet wide. I designed it so each person will have a window in front, side, and behind them. Dad and I both put a chair in it, his is more comfortable. I have since killed two deer and a wasp nest in the stand.

  Dad slows to a stop at the clearest path to my stand and reminds us to keep the walkie-talkie close in case he needs us. He says he’s going to check the boar traps before going to his deer stand. My inner lie detector goes off as he telling us. Once he leaves we start walking toward my stand that sits just a few feet past the tree line for optimal sighting.

  “He’s lying, Jake. Do you know what my dad is really up too?”

  “Why would I know? He just set up the new traps last time he was out here why wouldn’t he want to check them?”

  “Come on, we both know I can tell when someone isn’t being honest. I just want to know what he’s up too. I could just ask him on the walkie.” He stops me from grabbing the walkie-talkie.

  “Let the old man have some secrets. Are all chicks this nosey?”

  “I am not nosey. He’s the one hiding something. He’s old, Jake what if something happens and he gets-”

  Jake cuts me off, “Ugh, he’s getting your birthday crap ready and heaven forbid he try to actually surprise you, you brat.”

  “Oh.”

  “You better act surprised when you see it.” In his aggravation he begins speeding up to put distance between us.

  “Hey, wait up. Do you know what he got for me?”

  “Sshh, you’re going to scare off anything within five miles.”

  He acts like I can help it knowing when someone isn’t being honest, like always he’s just infuriating. I act like Jake isn’t there and he does the same, making it almost bearable that I have to spend my birthday weekend with him.

  We make it to the stand when he asks, “ You want the left or right flank, birthday brat?” as he climbs the ladder to get inside the stand.

  “I get the right side with the good seat and Stop. Calling. Me. Brat.”

  About half an hour sitting in the stand, cold and tired my eyelids get heavy, “Since you’re here could you be useful and wake me up if something walks into view?”

  Jake lets out a breath through his teeth as he slowly shakes his head no wi
thout looking at me. I take that as a yes and close my eyes.

  Screams ring out in the peaceful woods. I jump awake and gasp as if something heavy was on my chest. I open my eyes to see Jake right in front of me with one arm wrapped around me while the other hand grabs my arm. I’m instinctively pushing away from him.

  “Get off me. What happened?” I want to yell but all that comes out is an angry whisper because he has ahold of me so tight.

  “What’s wrong with you? You almost dove out the stand.”

  I push his arm off of me as I take my seat. I feel fine other than my hip being sore from hitting the floor when I fell off the chair.

  “I’m fine. I just had a bad dream, I guess. I heard a scream.”

  He backs up and starts shaking his head just like he was before I went to sleep. Jake’s chair is lying on its side with his gun next to it. He must have moved pretty quick when I freaked out. My gun is still propped up in the corner where I put it before I went to sleep.

  Jake starts picking his chair and gun up saying, “You almost gave me a heart attack. You must have heard the gun shot. It was a good ways out though so I don’t think it was Uncle Darrell.”

  He grabs the walkie-talkie from his pocket to see if Dad was the one who took the shot when I look out the window across the clearing from us.

  “Jake, look,” I whisper.

  On the other side of the clearing a few yards down, just a few feet from the tree line, are a pack of wild boar.

  One of them is impressive with freakishly large tusks that would make you wonder how the cute pink pigs you see on TV ever evolved from this nasty thing. Then, I see trailing the pack are two small babies the same dark color as the others. Jake sets the walkie-talkie down and picks up his gun quietly.

  “I saw them first.”

  I bring my Winchester up to my shoulder and so does Jake.

  “We can take two down at the same time. You take the one on the right and I’ll get the one with the tusks on the count of three. One,-”

  Pow!

  I took my shot just as the scary boar I was aiming for turns causing me to hit his butt instead of the sweet spot on the lower chest. The pack scatters including the one I was aiming for. That stinks.

  “What was that? I said on the count of three!”

  “I wanted to take Tusks down and we both know what a show-boat you are so I took it.”

  Jake snickers, “Well you did a fantastic job. You took out the smallest one in the group. I’d better watch out or I’ll be having to hand over my award for awesomeness.”

  What? I look out to where the pack had been walking around. Sure enough there is a small dark mound barely visible above the tall grass. One of the piglets following its family just moments ago is now laying motionless in the grass.

  “It must have been standing behind Tusks when I took the shot.”

  I turn to look at Jake as I think of the dead piglet and wonder if the other piggy will miss its friend.

  He meets my gaze as I frown at the thought, “Oh no, I already did my good deed for the day by letting you have the good chair. You can go pick up your trophy kill. I’m going to see if Uncle Darrell is ready to go back to the camp.”

  I get up and start descending the ladder as I mumble what a gentleman he is to sit on his butt while I do the dirty work.

  It’s a longer walk than it looked from the stand to where the piglet met it’s demise. I get to the other side of the clearing to find no piglet. I look at Jake and he leans out the small window and motions for me to keep going to my left. I was close but the tall grass makes it hard to see until I’m right on top of it. Jake hollers out from the stand behind me but I can’t make it out.

  “I know, I see it,” I mumble.

  I kneel to look at the poor piggy. My shot hit it in the side of the head. It didn’t stand a chance. At least the tiny thing didn’t suffer.

  Jake hollers louder. This time I can hear what he’s saying, “Look out!”

  Then I hear it, labored breathing that’s not coming from me. I turn my head from the piglet to see Tusks. He is back and running full speed at me. Some people don’t realize the true nature of boar and assume they are the same as their farm-raised, docile cousins. Those people would be grossly mistaken. I jump up, and fling my arms out to appear bigger in hopes of scaring him off. It doesn’t work. In fact, I think he speeds up. In that second I decidedly change his name from Tusks to Psycho Pig as I grab my knife from my hip pocket and start running towards the deer stand.

  Jake is in the stand with his gun aimed at me. He’s trying to get a shot at Psycho Pig but I’m in the way. He is directly behind me so I need to…mid decision to move out of Jake’s way a fallen branch catches my foot causing the ground in front of me to come up and smack my face, hard.

  Pow! Pow!

  I’m sprawled out in the tall grass when Jake shoots. My right hand is on fire. Psycho Pig goes down just a couple feet behind me. Jake shimmies down the ladder in the blink of an eye. He runs right past me to the pig with his gun raised and kicks it in the belly. He knows how mean they are. He isn’t giving it the chance to pull through.

  Once he is satisfied the boar is no longer a threat he turns his attention to me, “I am the best shot under pressure. Admit it.”

  “Ha! Yeah, and modest too.”

  I push the hair out my eyes and raise myself up. I notice blood is smeared on the ground underneath me. Jake must see it too because before I say anything he rushes over and helps me up, “Did you hit your head when you fell? There’s blood all in your hair.”

  I give myself a once over and when I open my throbbing right hand blood gushes. I close it as soon as I see it in fear I might pass out from the sight of it. The knife I grabbed must have sliced my hand open on the fall.

  “Wow, that looks bad,” Jake bends down next to me inspecting my hand.

  “Where is my dad?” I whisper.

  “It’s going to be a minute but he’s on the way,” Jake takes off his jacket and long sleeve shirt off leaving him only in a white under shirt. He grabs the bottom hem of his shirt with both hands and rips it. He tears it all the way around until he has a long piece of white fabric. He takes my hand, which I barely open, and wraps the fabric tight around the palm of my hand.

  What was I thinking? I could have stabbed myself. Scenarios start playing in my head. It starts getting hard to breathe. I need to calm down. I’m on the verge of tears but I refuse to cry in front of Jake. The last time he saw me cry was six years ago when I broke my arm jumping off the trampoline. From then until I got the cast off he kept repeating the story about when he didn’t shed a tear after he broke his leg flipping a 4-wheeler. Instead of signing his name on my cast he wrote “cry baby”. I stand up and start walking to the stand then it dawns on me, I can’t climb the ladder to get my gun with my hand like this. I turn back to Jake with my hurt hand balled up in a fist to my chest. I refuse to say anything because my sight is getting blurry and one word will cause my tears to spill out. He’s just standing there staring at me with a kind of scared look on his face that for some reason makes my blood boil.

  “Stop looking at me like that! What’s your deal?” My voice sounds a little heavy but my sudden anger causes the lump in my throat to dissolve.

  “Sorry, I just thought you were crying and… I didn’t know what to do.”

  “I am not crying, but you could go get my gun from the stand so we can get the heck out of here.”

  “Right,” He sprints to the stand, climbs up, grabs my gun, and as he’s climbing down the ladder my dad’s voice comes through the walkie-talkie.

  “He’s almost to us, let’s go,” Jake says as he walks past me toward the trail.

  “What about Psycho Pig?” I point to the boar.

  “We can come back once he’s looked at your hand,” Jake glances back at me as I fall in line behind him, “Keep your hand up higher than your heart so you don’t bleed out.” Good thinking. I raise my hand up so now I’m walking in
the woods looking like I have a question and am waiting on someone to call my name.

  Dad is already parked and standing by the side of the truck when we make it to the road. He walks past Jake, straight to me when he sees us.

  “Are you okay sweetheart? Let me see,” He unwraps the makeshift bandage and asks me to move my fingers. I can move all of them but it makes the bleeding worse. Dad wraps it back up even tighter than before and tells us to get in the truck. I hop in the passenger seat and, for once, I don’t hear anything from Jake about it. I’m going to take advantage of this as long as it lasts.

  We get to the camp in record time.

  As we get to the door Dad abruptly stops and turns to me, “Um. Taylor you need to close your eyes and I’ll help you in the door.”

  “Okay?”

  I close my eyes, Dad holds my elbow, opens the door, and directs me inside. I hear Dad whisper to Jake once we are inside the camp.

  “Alright, so on the count of three, open your eyes.”

  “She’s not good with those kind of directions, Uncle Darrell,” Jake snickers.

  Dad ignores him and counts, “One. Two. Three.”

  When I open my eyes the room is dark except for some small, flickering lights. My eyes adjust and the small lights turn into candles, candles on a small cake. It’s a cookie cake, my favorite. Jake brings it to Dad and me. I look at Dad happy but confused.

  “I know, I know. Your birthday isn’t until tomorrow but the ice cream wasn’t going to last in the ice chest so we didn’t have much of a choice. Besides, we both know how hard it is to keep secrets from you.”

  “We need to hurry this up or the candles are going to melt all over the cake,” Jake says holding the cake out.

  Dad turns back to Jake and they start singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me. I can’t help but give both of them a big grin even with my hand throbbing. They finish the song and I blow out the candles.

  “What did you wish for?” Jake asks.

  “My hand to stop bleeding.”