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"If you're so worried about my ranch, then why don't you help me save it?" Mama said.
"Like you said. Your ranch. Your boy. You've pushed me out of my own family."
"How can you say that when I've begged you to stay? When I've pleaded with you to spend more time with the boys? This is you, Rex, not me. Those boys are literally my heart. God entrusted them to me and thanks to you, I'm all they have."
More cursing from our dear father, followed by, "I'm so sick of your martyr routine, Stella. Since the first—when you basically forced me to marry you because of your carelessness, you've done nothing but try to change me. I'm not worthless or ridiculous."
"I never said you were."
"I can see it in your eyes," Dad said. "Every time you look at me all I see is how disappointed you are with your life. I'm sorry you couldn't go to college and had to stay here and raise kids when I know you think a lot more of yourself."
"The greatest privilege of my life is to care for these boys. I would have liked to include you in that same category, but it's you who hasn't wanted to be here with me. You hate this ranch. This state. Working hard. So what am I supposed to do with you, other than feel regret for how my life’s turned out?”
"There are women out there who would appreciate me and treat me with respect," Dad said, voice raised.
"Then go find one of them, because I’m done coddling you. I have five boys and a man-child under my roof, and I'm tired of your excuses. If you don't want to be here, then go."
"I will. You can bet I will."
We heard the sound of his boots on the kitchen floor and then the back door slamming. Seconds later, his truck peeled out of the driveway.
Atticus motioned for us to get up and head to his bedroom. He didn't want Mama to know we'd heard all of that. I went with him even though I wanted to go downstairs and hug Mama. She might be crying.
Mama was brave, but I’d heard her crying at night enough to know that she was hurting. Because of him. He’d done this.
Atticus let me crawl onto his made bed. Since he was the oldest, he got his own room. I shared with Rafferty, which I was glad about because I was scared in the dark sometimes. Hearing his breathing always calmed me.
If I could be like my brothers, I wouldn’t be scared all the time, but we all knew that was never going to happen.
Atticus sat at his desk and dug into his backpack for his books. He studied all the time. How could he do it?
"How come you study so much?" I asked, resting my head on his pillow.
"Because I have to make a bunch of money to take care of Mama and the ranch."
That made sense. If anyone could do it, Atticus could. I overheard my second-grade teacher tell an aide that Atticus was a genius with math.
"Are we going to lose the ranch?" I asked, voice trembling.
"No way. I have a plan." Atticus turned to look at me, pushing his glasses further up his nose.
"Okay, good." I breathed a little easier. Atticus would think of something.
"I heard what Mama said to you about the medicine. My friend Peter takes it, and he says it makes it so he can focus and study easier. If Mama says you should take it, then you should."
"I'll do whatever she wants."
"Good." He returned to his math book, open on his desk now.
"Atticus?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think Dad hates me?"
Atticus took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes before answering. "He’s a worthless piece of garbage. That's all. Nothing to do with you or the rest of us."
"Do you think they're getting a divorce?" I asked.
