A Shattered Wife by Diana Salyers Page A

usefulness to his son,
his voice changed. He began to talk slowly, as though William were an imbecilic
child.
    Martha watched from her place at the table. Her prayers that
William would not have to see the ugly red and black slashes on the chart had
not been answered.
    William knew better than to discuss the worthlessness of
such a project with his father so he said little, nodding as though he
understood. He did not understand; nor would he ever see the insane need to
destroy wildlife.
    "So, I’ve got a good record of my kills for this month.
Pretty good work for a man in a wheelchair, I’d say," Bill concluded, his
voice full of pride.
    William stopped nodding, not really knowing what was
expected of him.
    "Can you do as well?"
    "No, Dad. You know I couldn’t. Besides, I have no desire
to shoot animals, even if they were plentiful where I live. They are not."
They had had this conversation before and William knew his part well.
    "Desire! Ha! You’re just plain chicken-shit!"
Bill’s mirthless laughter boomed through the kitchen.
    Ignoring the invitation to argue, William returned to his
place at the table. "Can I have some of that cake, Mom?"
    As Bill came back to the table, Martha scurried to get cake
for the two men. The atmosphere in the kitchen was charged with tension,
punctuated by the distant thunder that rumbled like a lion’s roar.
    Attacking his cake with relish, William searched his
father’s face from beneath lowered lashes. He saw an old man, full of pain and
anger, but there was something in that face he had never seen before. Worry
creased his forehead as he tried to decide what it was.
    "We’ve been working hard on that chart," Bill said
suddenly, as though he had been having a conversation all along in his head. "Your
mother helps me, too."
    Avoiding her son’s eyes, Martha stared at her empty plate.
    Sensing her unease, William changed the subject. "The
kids are doing great."
    Martha looked at him then, a gentle smile curving her lips. "I
miss them."
    "Yeah, I shoot ‘em and she marks ‘em down. We’re a
pretty good team. I’ll bet you and what’s-her-name couldn’t do that."
    "I’m not interested, Dad," William said, his
boldness surprising all of them.
    Martha froze.
    "What?" Bill demanded, his fork paused halfway to
his mouth.
    William swallowed hard, wishing he could control his
shaking. "I said, I’m not interested."
    "Of course, I forgot. Important business ‘men’ don’t
have time for sporting games like us old farmers." Bill’s voice was thick
with sarcasm.
    Knowing they were headed for an argument, Martha timidly
touched her husband’s arm. "Bill…"
    He ignored her. "I don’t imagine you have time for
anything that real men do. How’d you get those two kids, son. Did you have to
hire a real man for that?"
    Under the table, William clenched his fists. It wasn’t the
first time in his life he wanted to hit his father. It was too late now. Could
you punch out an old man in a wheelchair and still look at yourself in the
mirror? His second impulse was to get up and walk out; run away again.
    Martha stared helplessly at her son. Once Bill got started
on something he was like a dog with a bone.
    Thunder rumbled again, closer.
    "Dad," William struggled desperately to control
his shaking voice. "I just don’t believe in killing wild animals for
sport. Now, if I had to kill them to feed my family, it would be different."
    "You’re afraid! That’s the real reason." Bill’s
voice was loud, louder than necessary. "Coward! Chicken!"
    William stood up. There was nothing else for him to do but
run. It wouldn’t be the first time. He headed for the door.
    Helplessly, hopelessly lost, Martha crossed to the sink.
Huge tears ran down her cheeks as lightning flashed, thunder rolled and the
first fat raindrops plopped onto the window. Cackling hysterically, Bill
continued to shout names at his son’s back. His face turned purple from the
exertion. Turning to leave the table with a quick,