Haley’s Song, By: Jennifer Bryce

The warm morning hinted at the coming scorching of the summer. The good news was that it had been a wet winter, and she hoped the irrigation pumps would make it to monsoon without surging and coughing up salt. The truck dropped her off on the dirt road that led to her house.

She walked into the house; Daddy sat at the kitchen table waiting for her. Haley froze in her tracks. He was never home during the day. A brick landed in the pit of her stomach. He spent his nights at the bar and days on a green John Deere tractor that was held together by grease and baling wire; he shouldn’t be home right now. This day was going to go from bad to worse faster than a viper could strike.  “Come here, girl,” Daddy ordered. He had a brown beer bottle in his hand, and his hair lay greasy and disheveled.  “Yes, sir.” Haley sat down in the chair next to him and kept her eyes down in her lap.

 

 

 

 

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