Chapter 5 - The Smell of Sawdust and Pine
The gravel driveway of Marcus’s home in Sapulpa crunched under the tires of my sedan two days after the court hearing.
It wasn't a trailer, despite what Karen had shouted in court.
It was a small, rustic wooden cabin sitting on four acres of thick oak trees and wild prairie grass. The house was old, built in the late 1970s, but the porch was brand new, smelling freshly cut pine and cedar. A small wooden swing hung from heavy steel chains on the left side of the porch, painted a soft, cheerful yellow.
Marcus was out back when I pulled up. He was wearing a grease-stained gray t-shirt and work boots, splitting oak logs with a heavy iron maul.
SWOOSH—CRACK.
The log split cleanly down the center, falling into the grass.
Lily was sitting twenty feet away on a blanket, wearing denim overalls, carefully stacking pinecones into neat, organized towers.
"Evelyn," Marcus said, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his tattooed forearm as I stepped out of the car. "You didn't have to drive all the way out here."
"I brought the paperwork for the CPS inspector," I said, holding up a manila folder. "And a fresh jar of homemade peach preserves."
Lily looked up from her pinecones. When she saw me, her small face didn't stay solemn. A tiny, genuine smile broke across her lips—the first real smile I had seen from her since this nightmare began.
"Miss Evelyn!" she called out, standing up and dusting grass off her knees. "Look! Daddy built me a birdhouse!"
I walked over to the edge of the porch. Hanging from the low branch of an ancient oak tree was a beautifully crafted wooden birdhouse, sanded down until the grain shone like silk, painted bright yellow with a tiny daisy carved into the front door.
"That’s fine work, Marcus," I said, turning to him.
Marcus rubbed the back of his neck, looking genuinely embarrassed. "I had some scrap pine left over from the porch floor. She said she wanted to see cardinals."
I sat down on the porch swing, letting the cedar wood support my back. I watched Marcus set the maul down and walk over to the small porch fridge, pulling out two cold bottles of water. He handed one to me and sat on the top step, his long legs stretched out into the grass.
"CPS is coming on Thursday," I reminded him quietly. "Her name is Sarah Jenkins. I worked with her for six years. She’s strict, Marcus. She doesn't care about birdhouses. She cares about smoke detectors, fire extinguishers, lockboxes for tools, and milk in the fridge."
"Everything’s done," Marcus said, pointing his thumb toward the front door. "First aid kit by the sink. Fire extinguisher mounted near the stove. The gun lockbox is bolted to the concrete floor in the closet, key stays on my person at all times. Fresh groceries came yesterday."
I looked at his profile—the hard line of his jaw, the heavy scar running along his hairline, the dark ink of a crow’s wing spreading up his throat.
"You're a good father, Marcus," I said softly.
Marcus stared down at his boots for a long time. The wind rustled the leaves of the oak tree above us, making the yellow birdhouse sway gently back and forth.
"I didn't used to be," he said, his voice dropping into that dark, heavy register. "Before prison... I was stupid. I thought being loud and dangerous was the only way to keep people from stepping on me. My brother got into debt with some bad people in North Tulsa. I went over there to fix it with my fists. I thought I was being a hero."
He took a slow drink of his water.
"While I was sitting in a six-by-eight cell in Lexington, Karen was spending the money my dad left me," Marcus continued. "She told Lily I was dead. For two years, Evelyn... my daughter thought I was in the ground."
My chest tightened. "How did you find out?"
"I got out on parole. I went to the old house. Karen had already moved in with some guy who sold used cars in Jenks. She handed me a paper through the screen door and told me if I ever came near Lily again, she’d tell the cops I threatened her."
"So what did you do?"
"I hired a lawyer. I spent every cent I made welding steel beams downtown," Marcus said, looking over at Lily, who was currently trying to teach a grasshopper how to sit on a stick. "I built this porch. I bought the Harley because it was cheap on gas and I could fix the motor myself. I stopped drinking. I stopped talking loud. I just... waited."
I looked down at the paper in my hand—the CPS checklist.
"Karen isn't going to stop, Marcus," I told him honestly. "Sterling is going to dig into your old club ties. He’s going to call your ex-felon friends to the stand. He’s going to make this as dirty as humanly possible."
May you like
Marcus turned his head, his green eyes burning with an intense, quiet flame that didn't come from anger, but from an absolute, immovable purpose.
"Let him dig," Marcus said. "I buried the bad man I used to be four years ago, Evelyn. If Sterling wants to dig him up... he’s just going to find a father standing on top of the grave."
