Part Two: Chapter Eight

The world changed forever that night. In the harsh light of the next afternoon, the local papers held the headlines that the factory was closing. Nick's father had been in Columbus trying to prevent it, and Kaylin's father had been drinking trying to deny it.

Nick stayed with Kaylin all day at her house helping her clean and care for Francis whose wheezing was getting progressively worse. Kaylin found she couldn't hide the black, mucous from Nick's eyes, but he never complained. Francis brushed his fingers along the bruise on Kaylin's face and turned her head to look at the scabbed over gash behind her ear. No one said a word, but Francis moved his eyes to Nick whose eyes held the anger of the previous night, and he understood. Francis knew his son's faults and had heard the argument, heard the sound of his granddaughter being hit, but his belief not to intervene held him at bay. It wasn't until he saw the damage to her face, saw the heat in this boy's face, that he realized something had to be done. Francis smiled at Nick, and put his hand on the boy's shoulder as he walked by.

This day, nestled in the house was like a bubble, shutting out the reality of the outside world. They all knew that eventually Aaron would come home, the truth of the factory closing would hit both their households, the summer would come to a close, but for this one day, they acted like a family, the dying old man, the bruised girl, and the boy who loved her.

As the day wore on, Francis napped, and Kaylin took Nick upstairs. She could hear the old man's breathing machine click and beep, so she knew he was sound asleep. It was then that Kaylin showed Nick how much she loved him, and with stifled pleasure they gave themselves to each other for the first time.

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Kaylin was browning meat for Hamburger Helper, and Nick sat at the table playing Gin with Francis when the screen door was heard. They all looked around, and Francis started for the foyer, waving Kaylin and Nick to remain.

"Dad," Aaron said, seeing the old man approach from the kitchen, "everything OK?" Francis, never one to speak much, took his grown son's arm and led him outside out of earshot of the two teenagers preparing dinner only a few feet away.

The dinner was a quiet one, with Francis' coughing the only sound to be heard other than the familiar clinking of the dinner wear. Francis and Aaron had been gone a long time, and when Francis returned, he took his seat in silence. Nick and Kaylin had been sitting in the kitchen waiting for their return and took this as a sign to start dinner. Francis was seventy and every bit the gruff stereotype of a former coal miner, he spoke very little and his few actions were measured and part of a strict routine: it was no use asking him about his conversation. As the table was arranged, Aaron came in and joined them, looking humbled and getting a glass of whiskey from the cabinet. He seated himself not at the head of the table, but across from Nick who sat next to Kaylin along the wall.

The hailstorm that they expected from Aaron never came; his thoughts were elsewhere. His father had chided him like when he was younger and minced no words telling him that he was earning the respect of his friends, but loosing the respect of his family and his God. Aaron's mind was aching from his inevitable job loss, his intervention with his father, and the pain in his daughter's eyes whenever she looked at him. At some point she had become a woman. She had gone from a chubby little girl with ringlets who always hugged him when he came home, no matter how late, no matter what he must have smelled like (grease, booze, smoke), to a woman with all the attributes he had once loved in her mother. At thirty-six, his life had slipped away from him before he had a chance to realize it. He stared at the glass of whiskey he sipped from and then looked to the boy seated across from him who was chewing slowly, taking in the man.

Without a word, Aaron finished his dinner, stood up and went to his room.

Part Two: Chapter Three

“Seanathair, I’m going to go over Alicia’s house tonight, will you be OK?” he lolled his head to the side and caught her eye. He gave her a lopsided grin and pulled the pad of paper he kept on the end table towards him.

“Write it down so I don’t forget,” he mumbled as best he could, “and I will be fine.”

Kaylin gave him a warm smile and quickly scribbled down Alicia Rizzman’s name and address in her big, loopy handwriting. They both knew her father wouldn’t be home before she would be, but keeping up pretense was important to them both. There had been a lot of talk recently about the plant her father worked for shutting down, so his nights were spent at the bar with coworkers drinking their worries away.

“You look nice today, Kayliree,” he noticed, using a pet name for her he had been using more recently, “have fun.” Her grandfather wasn’t around much during her young years, but after moving in with Francis and Kaylin, he found that his granddaughter was a bright, patient, beautiful girl. She sat still during mass and not only listened to his ramblings, but asked questions, too. After the stroke, he realized how much his son neglected the girl for his work and friends, and tonight he was glad to see her get out and act her age for once.

“Thank you Seanathair,” Kaylin said and ducked out.

Part Two: Chapter One

Winters in southern Ohio can be especially cruel and stricken; there are days when the air is too cold for the welcome snow that would shut down schools and businesses, allowing young children the opportunity to romp and play in the white powder. For a young Kaylin McSandsen, winters were especially brutal: she was left along most nights, and every scraping of a bare branch, every creak of the cold, empty house was a monster that filled the little girl's nightmares.

Kaylin Colleen McSandsen was the only child of Aaron McSandsen, a hardened man, born in Ireland and raised in Kentucky by his coal mining father. He had worked hard, and earned the respect of those around him. At twenty-one he met Colleen Mullins, within two months they were married; seven months later their daughter was born. Aaron was absorbed in his work and worried constantly about the opinions of those around him. He had high expectations of himself and of his new family, before it had even begun. His patience with his young bride wore thing within weeks of their marriage.

Aaron worked as the sift manager for the manufacturing company in a small town called Riversedge, located near mostly nothing in Ohio. He took on as many shifts and duties as he could' after work he was always asked to out for drinks with coworkers and eventually his bosses. He was a man's man: hard-working, fun to be around, and always dependable.

Collen was a frail, weak woman who waited constantly for the young and passionate Aaron she had fallen in love with to come home. Worried so about pleasing the man who had become her husband, Kaylin was left to herself most of the time whole Colleen fretted about, herself taking nips from a bottle she kept in her spice cabinet. Kaylin was tasked with helping Mommy clean the house: scrubbing baseboards and windows daily, toilet bowls washed with bleach after each flush, and her clothes were neatly folded before being placed in the hamper for washing.

Kaylin was only a few years old when she first remembered seeing her father hit her mother. She had woken up in the middle of the night to hear her father's loud singing downstairs, Collen was hushing him, and he was shoving her away. In that instant, all the days of trying to win his approval, all the nights of waiting for him to come home rushed through Colleen's veins and she threw a heavy glass platter at him. The shattering as it hit the floor was deafening, and Aaron attacked her like she was a man, breaking her jaw with one hard punch that laid her to the ground. His calloused hands were around her throat when he saw little Kaylin standing in the door, blood from her mother's mouth had sprayed on her frayed Care Bears nightgown. He released Colleen, wiped the spittle from his mouth and growled, "It's not even worth it. You aren't even worth my sweat."

Things changed after that. Every night Aaron didn't come home from his shift, Colleen went out too, giving Kaylin kisses and told to stay in bed no matter what. Sometimes Mommy came home first, stumbling in the door not always alone; sometimes Father came home first waking Kaylin up with a shake, asking where her mother was.

Her mother's death in a car accident when Kaylin was twelve ended that. Her father tried to mourn his wife, but the loss was inconsequential, they had lost each other years before her body was in the ground. Aaron's estranged relationship with his daughter prevented him from helping the young girl handle her bereavement, but neighbors and townspeople came to his aide: offering to stay with the girl while he worked, bringing food for their meals, and taking Kaylin to mass. Never wanting to be pitied, Aaron accepted the offering for the obligatory mourning time, and then assured everyone they would get along fine. Aaron realized he needed someone to watch over his daughter's comings and goings though, and to ensure their privacy and to maintain his routine of working and philandering, Aaron moved his ailing father into his house.

Exposed to too much war and coal dust, Francis McSandsen, was a gruff man who adored his granddaughter in his own, quiet way. He complimented her cooking, signed school papers; he bought a TV for her room and even paid for her own telephone line to her bedroom; she called him 'Seanathair' the Gaelic word for Grandfather that he had taught her long ago, and he called her his 'Kaylerie' an adaption of her name in the old brogue. But he was as distant as his son, and preferred to spend more time to himself and watching TV than paying much attention to his granddaughter.

Kaylin had learned early to smile and be happy no matter what, and to be the best little girl she could be and never upset anyone. She gave love and hugs to everyone in the school and the community, and she was known to a strong and diligent daughter to her widowed father and her sick grandfather. Kaylin was good at smiling and being good for it was in doing so that she got the occasional smile in return from her father, or that she earned praise from other adults in her vicinity. She never mourned her life: it was the only one she knew.