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Ruger had left him alone once his knot had deflated, and Wyatt returned to the house covered in a mud that was made out of dirt, piss, and cum, instead of dirt and water. After his golden shower, Wyatt had tried to take a real shower, but the shower/bathtub combo was full of trash and other things that had no business being in a bathroom—a broken chair, two air conditioners, and the ironing board.
Instead, he’d taken a bird bath, stripping out of his clothes on the dusty pink bathroom carpet and putting them in a ripped plastic bag he found in the bathtub next to a dented can of creamed corn. There wasn’t a washcloth or towel to be found, so he cleaned himself off as best he could with water and his hands, then dried himself with toilet paper, leaving little white rolls of the soaked, friable tissue all over his skin. It took forever to get them all off and eventually he stopped trying.
Wyatt looked rough at their Saturday Morning breakfast. Hogg had told him it was at 7am, so he hadn’t had time to sleep, but Hogg had lied. It was at 9am, and Hogg didn’t even wake up for it.
Meemaw was actually Wyatt’s great-grandmother. She was in her eighties and a tough old bird. She was hunch-backed and thinner than a rail and had the eyes of a hawk. She never missed anything and Wyatt knew better than to make the mistake of thinking because she was old that her brain was dull. She was the matriarch of the Davis clan for more than one reason. Lonnie, her husband, hadn’t been the oldest son and hadn’t been set to inherit their holler, but his brother Charles had died under suspicious circumstances that some thought might be food poisoning. His cause of death was listed as a heart attack. Meemaw’s sister was dating the Sheriff at the time.
No one fucked with Meemaw. Even if she hadn’t been fearsome in her own right, her three sons still lived on the property. They were all meaner than junkyard dogs but respected their Ma, like good ol’ boys should. They made sure everyone else did, too.
Saturday breakfast was a weekly affair that Meemaw used to her advantage. She woke everyone up early, they’d come eat because she got up at dawn to make everyone’s favorite, chicken and waffles, and then she’d put them to work.
Saturday was the day that the clan (mostly) put aside their differences and worked together for their mutual survival. Saturdays were filled with chopping and processing firewood, slaughtering and dressing pigs and chickens, fixing fencing, non-urgent repairs and working their land.
The only people who lived in the Davis Holler that had decent jobs were Jerry Lee, Cy, and Amalene. Amalene worked in town as assistant manager at the Dollar General, Jerry Lee at the Plastic Factory, and Cy operated heavy machinery for an excavating company. Everyone else had their own way of making money—or not. There were a lot of monthly welfare, disability, and social security checks that didn’t add up to much.
All of Meemaw’s living children—Randall, Harlan, Charles (yes, named after Lonnie’s late older brother), and Vickie lived on the property, as well as six of her grandchildren—Jerry Lee, Cy, Leanne, Amalene, Casey and Wade. There were only six great-grandchildren that lived in their compound—Cal (Amalene’s son), Graclynn and Chastity (Cy’s daughters), Stephen and Daniel (Leanne’s sons) and Wyatt. There was even a great-great-grandchild. Fourteen-year-old Chastity had given birth nine months ago to Krystal. Chastity didn’t talk about who the father was.
Those were just the blood relatives. In total, with spouses and not including the occasional transient friend, there were twenty-two people who lived on Davis Holler Drive, spread out over six trailers and a garden shed that wasn’t quite up to code. Twenty-three, now that Wyatt was back. Davis Holler wasn’t someplace you had privacy, which was evident the second Wyatt walked into Meemaw’s double wide.
“What were you screamin’ and hollerin’ all night long for, boy?” Harlan demanded, sucking his teeth. Meemaw’s 66-year-old second oldest son was seated in the living room along with two of his brothers and three of his nephews and Stephen and Daniel, Wyatt’s cousins who were closer to him in age. All of their eyes were on Wyatt. All of the Davis men were the same—they could smell blood in the water.
There wasn’t a single innocent plausible reason for the terrorized yelling the night before. Everyone knew Jerry Lee had done something terrible to Wyatt, they just didn’t know what. And they wanted to.
Wyatt panicked, his tired brain trying to come up with a good excuse. “Uh...I just had a nightmare was all.”
“That’s an awful lot of shoutin’ for a nightmare,”Cy chimed in. “What’d it last for, fifteen, twenty minutes?” He looked toward the group and most of them agreed. “I’m surprised you didn’t wake yourself up, yellin’ that loud.” Cy was Jerry Lee’s brother, and had the same poisonous drawl. He was bigger framed and solid as a brick wall, with a face that never gave away what he was thinking. It didn't matter if he was happy, sad, or angry, he always had the same dead-pan face and affect.
“Are you sure it was a dream?” Casey laughed.”Sounded like you were plenty awake ta me.”
Wyatt held his ground, hoping they would let it go. They didn’t. Davis men were like a dog with a bone. Wade reached over and pulled Wyatt onto his lap, snuggling his face into Wyatt’s neck in a way that could be playful if Wyatt didn’t feel so threatened right now.
“You can tell us, Babyface.” Wade pinched his cheek, shaking the flesh up and down. Wade had always been touchy-feely with the kids, and Wyatt had never thought anything of it, but now he was uncomfortable. It felt like none of them liked him, because of what his mom did and because he didn’t love hunting like everybody else. The worst part was that the cousins he’d been closest to growing up—really his second cousins—were witnessing this. Stephen was eight-years-old and Daniel was thirteen, and Wyatt could almost see their opinions of him changing as they picked up on the atmosphere around them.
“No, I really did just have a bad dream...I’m sorry I kept y’all awake.” Even though Wyatt had been living up North for a year and a half, his southern accent had remained thick, no matter how much Denise had yelled at him to change it or the other kids in school had laughed at him. Wade looked like he was going to say something else but Joy, his wife who was two decades younger than he was popped her blonde head out of the kitchen.
“You boys leave Wyatt alone, now, you hear? Poor little guy has had a hard enough week already as it is. Wyatt, baby, why don’t you come in the kitchen and we’ll get you caught up on the gossip.”
It would have been better if she’d stayed out of it, but Wyatt got to his feet and reluctantly obeyed her. The kitchen was the last place he wanted to be—it was the Davis women’s domain, and all of the men stayed out of it.
“You go on, princess. Help your meemaw with those waffles!” Cy laughed, a big booming thing that managed not to sound joyful at all.
Inside the kitchen, it was a completely different environment. It was bright and the women of the Holler—mostly Vickie Sue, June,and Leann—were bustling around, making food. It was loud. From years of Saturdays, they worked in the kitchen as a well-oiled machine. Well, most of them.
Joy wasn’t blood. She was an outlander, and she’d ruined so many meals that it didn’t matter how much Wade beat her, she hadn’t learned anything and Meemaw didn’t let her make food in her kitchen anymore. Joy patted the stool next to her, Chastity sitting on her other side breastfeeding Krystal.
Wyatt’s eyes went wide as he saw Chastity’s tit hanging outside of her shirt and her baby suckling on her nipple. He stared. Meemaw smacked the back of his head as she walked by.
“Wipe that look off of your face. There ain’t nothing wrong with a woman feedin’ a baby!”
Meemaw’s words called attention toward it, and Chastity yelped, turning her body to hide her chest from sight.
“Stop looking at me, you pervert!” Chastity screeched, hunched over her child and looking over her bare shoulder at him. With her long, curly auburn hair catching in the light she looked like a dragon protecting her hoard.
Jerry Lee walked in, looking bright and chipper as anything. He thumped Wyatt on the back soundly.
“Now Chastity, that ain’t no way to talk to a red-blooded man whose just mindin’ his own business and appreciatin’ the scenery.” Hogg eyeballed the young girl. “Turn this way, Honey. Let him see you.” Jerry Lee said it with the authority of a man who knew he would be obeyed.
“Let him have a look, he’s just a little guy.” Chastity turned a fraction toward him, then Jerry Lee reached behind Joy’s back, put his hand on Chastity’s sternum, and used the pressure of his palm to reorient her so Wyatt could look at her breast. Joy seemed to sink into the counter in front of her, making herself as small of a target as possible. June and Leanne carried on doing what they were doing, not minding Jerry Lee at all. Vickie Sue got a stormy look on her face, but didn’t speak up. Nobody spoke up to Jerry Lee.
Chastity’s face was bright red and splotchy as baby Krystal pulled off of her nipple. Her aerola was red from the baby pulling on her. Red hair, red face, red nipple.
“Is she fussing, Chaz? Looks like you’ve got your hands full holding her, let Wyatt here help you feed her.” Hogg’s gray eyes fixated on Wyatt gleefully. “Wyatt, get over here and help your cousin,” Jerry Lee demanded.
When he didn’t move, Jerry Lee grabbed him by the arm and yanked him over. “Don’t be shy, Babyface. She needs your help. Now grab her tit and get the baby to suck her.” Meemaw gave Jerry Lee a look but he shrugged it off. Meemaw turned her back to the room and worked the waffle iron, her face unreadable.
Not even Cy, Chastity’s daddy, would get between Jerry Lee and Chastity. Hogg loved teasing her.
Chastity looked like she’d rather die than be in the same room as Jerry Lee right now, and shot daggers at Wyatt, her entire expression saying ‘Don’t you dare.’
“CY!” Hogg bellowed. “Tell your daughter that a woman always does what a man tells her to.”
“Obey your Uncle Jerry, Chaz!” Cy shouted back from the other room, not even aware of what was going on in the kitchen but knowing that his daughter should do whatever her uncle was telling her to. It was for the best.
Jerry Lee shoved Wyatt in the back and Wyatt stumbled, catching himself on Chastity’s leg. He moved his shaking hands up to her breast, pale white spidered with blue veins and heavy with milk. Wyatt couldn’t look at his cousin’s face. He couldn’t look anywhere other than at her nipple, at the tiny little pinpricks of white fluid coming out from the ducts all over its surface.
Wyatt pointed the breast at little Krystal’s mouth, but before he could bring it to her lips Jerry Lee leaned over and whispered conspiratorially.
“You got ta get the milk flowing first, Wyatt. That teat of hers has got ta have blood flow.” Jerry Lee reached in and viciously pinched Chastity’s nipple. When she yelped, he twisted it until it almost looks like it was going to pop off. Milk spilled all over his hands. Chastity bit her lip, making a helpless, pained noise.
Finally, Jerry Lee let her go. But he wasn’t finished.
“Now you try, Wyatt.”
Wyatt was thinking about how he didn’t want to get on Jerry Lee’s bad side again. About how if Chastity was the weakest link, it wasn’t him. He grabbed her nipple and pinched as hard as he could, twisting at the same time, causing Chastity to scream out in pain. Krystal started crying. His hand had breast milk all over it. Wyatt looked up at Jerry Lee, who smiled down at him and waited a few beats before nodding.
“You can let her go now. That’s right. You did good, Wyatt. Now help Chaz feed that squaling baby of hers.”
Wyatt once again directed the nipple to Krystal’s mouth. The baby was too busy crying to notice, until Wyatt surprised her by pushing the teat in her mouth mid-wail. Krystal jerked her head back in surprise at first, then quested forward, latching on to her mother’s breast.
“That’s right.” Wyatt could see that Jerry Lee was hard in his jeans. “Now you have to help massage her milk bag, exactly like you do with the goats. Watch me, boy.”
Chastity was looking away at the far wall, head turned away from them. Jerry Lee didn’t care. He took her breast in both hands and started kneading the soft tissue. The milk really did come down more, streaming down Krystal’s mouth as the baby couldn’t swallow it all down. Jerry Lee stood there in the middle of the busy kitchen for about two minutes, massaging his niece's breast. Nobody said anything. Chastity’s face was tomato red with shame.
“Okay, Wyatt, I got her all started up for you.” Hogg stepped to the side, letting Wyatt closer. The seven-year-old boy reached up and used his small hands to massage milk from his fourteen-year-old cousin’s breast. Jerry Lee didn’t take his eyes off of them. Wyatt fondled Chastity until Krystal pulled off, full.
“You hold onto her. Your Aunties will help you if you need it. Chastity and I have a project we need to work on.” Jerry Lee leaned in and took Krystal from her mother, pressing the baby into Wyatt’s arms. Hogg steered Chastity up out of her chair and down the dark hallway toward the bedrooms.
Nobody said anything.
When Chastity came back in for breakfast, neither of her boobs looked like they were full of milk.