hear the crows on top of the house. On the mailbox. On the street.
Cawing.
Like a chant.
I want to help her, to comfort her. I lean in closer, to remind her that she’s safe now, he’s gone.
But she already knows, because those are the words she is whispering.
He’s gone. He’s gone. Why is he gone?
And then I realize that she doesn’t hurt everywhere because of him grabbing her face, calling her ugly names, holding a knife against her throat, telling her she’s better off dead than without him, telling her that he’ll take her to hell himself.
She hurts because he left.
She hurts because she wants him to come back.
Where does it hurt? I ask myself this time.
Everywhere.
Chapter Forty-Six
I WAKE UP WITH A STOMACHACHE. Mom and my sisters are all in bed with me, Campbell stretched across the foot of the bed. We are like Tetris pieces, fitting together just right. I untangle myself and go to the window, steeling myself for the image of his truck parked outside.
It isn’t there. I guess he stayed at the office again, which is nothing more than a trailer in a lot, surrounded by the few work vehicles that Barnes Construction still owns. It must have been freezing.
The thing in my chest is unusually quiet. No pounding heart. No flutters of fear. Just an aching sadness that I can’t quite place.
I hear the bed groan behind me, and Mom climbs out, settling Juniper back to sleep with a murmur and a soft kiss.
“Coffee?” she asks, dark circles under her eyes. She borrows a brush off my nightstand and tugs her hair into a messy French braid that curls down the side of her neck, her breasts, her ribs.
“Yeah,” I say, and we sneak out of the room together.
I watch her as she brews it, and pours it, and as she sits at the table across from me, pushing the milk over to my side. I don’t know what I’m looking for—some kind of sign that this is it. The morning after when she says enough.
I don’t see any sign.
“Remember malaphors?” I ask.
She’s silent a moment, and I wonder if she heard me, or if she’s too buried in her thoughts. But then she shifts, sips her coffee, and looks up, bright blue eyes as clear as ever.
“Let’s burn that bridge when we get to it,” she says.
“Don’t judge a book by another man’s treasure,” I counter.
“A bird in the hand is worth two birds with one stone.”
I smile. It was a game we played when I was younger. We’d try to find the best nonsensical combination of idioms and metaphors. Mom was always brilliant at it. And Dad liked to lose to her. He liked how clever she was. Now our cleverness irritates him. It’s like he thinks we are mocking him, all the time. Like the town. Like his father.
“Scaredy-cat got your tongue,” I say.
“Sleep with the fish out of water.”
“Home is where the crow flies,” I say. Home. It feels like I’ve sworn in front of her.
“Mom . . .” I start. “You need a restraining order. We need a restraining order.”
“Leighton, don’t start.”
“Mom—” My hands are shaking. Hot coffee drips all over my fingers.
“I know last night was scary, but he’s been under a lot of pressure. You know construction work slows and stops in winter, and we have a lot of bills. We could lose the house, Leighton.”
“You could make him leave.”
“This is his home. He grew up here. Let’s go stay with Nana for the weekend. We’ll let things blow over.”
“Forget things blowing over. Things have blown up.” I stand and start to walk away. I’ve never been this mad at her before.
“I’m gonna take the girls to see Nana. What are you going to do?”
I ignore her and stare out the window at the snowy lawn.
“Leighton, I don’t want to make any rash decisions. This is my marriage.”
“You sound ridiculous.”
“I’m still your mom. This isn’t your decision. It’s not your job to take care of the girls, either.”
“Well, somebody has to do it.”
These words have teeth, and we fall silent after I say them. Mom turns away, but not before I see the hurt on her face. I feel shame like a splinter inside of me, embedded in my skin, and I hate that I feel guilty for causing her any pain, when she overlooks mine so easily.
“I need time, Leighton,” she says. “I need to think about it.”
It isn’t much, but it’s all she’s offering.
“Then I need time,