spent all autumn tearing down my plants.”
“I’m very sorry to hear about . . . your flowers.”
“Well, I say we bring in any experts we can find. Get rid of the damn nuisances once and for all,” Mrs. Stieg says, and then she sits down. A few people clap for her.
“Okay, I think we’ve heard enough. On the table is Town Ordinance 4420, proposed on this date, the ninth of December, to approve a budget to contract out for crow eradication. All those against the ordinance say nay.”
There is silence in the room.
“Nay!” I call out, and everyone turns to look. Then they turn back. One nay.
“All those in support say aye.”
People yell their ayes. They stand and shout it. Some of them shuffle on the floor or raise their arms. One person climbs on his seat.
The ayes have it.
I bolt from the room, my sneakers squeaking on the shiny tiles as I run. I burst through the door and suck in the cold night air. The street in front of me is filled with crows. A few hundred, at least. They are facing the door to the municipal building. Cawing, cawing. They are so loud, cawing over each other, yelling like the people inside, and suddenly I don’t hear caws. I hear nays. “Nay!” scream the crows in their dark feathers outside. “Aye!” scream the people in their dark coats inside. Mirror images of each other.
If the crows could vote, the nays would’ve won.
Chapter Fifty-Four
I CLOSE THE DOOR AND LEAN against it for a minute, unwilling at first to move farther into the house. Everything is quiet except for the buzz of the television.
When I finally reach the living room, Campbell and Juniper are curled up on the chair, and my parents are on the couch. Mom is leaning into his side, and his arms are wrapped around her. The embrace is so normal, so gentle, but the sight makes my chest constrict.
“Leighton, how was your meeting?” she asks, patting the open space on the other side of her. I move into the room and sit down.
“Movie night?” I ask.
“We had to cancel the cable, so we’re picking from our favorites that we own,” Dad says, and the sentence is laced with guilt. He’s always sorry for the wrong thing.
“Good choice,” I say. “Anyone want some popcorn?”
Campbell and Juniper nod eagerly, and I head for the kitchen. I know they asked for an effort, and I want to try. It’s just hard.
Dad follows me into the kitchen.
“Here,” he says. “The popcorn machine is out of your reach.”
He gets it for me out of the cabinet over the refrigerator, carefully moving his wallet and keys and gun to the counter as he does so.
“One more game,” he says out of nowhere. It takes me a minute to raise my eyes from the counter. From the gun.
“Hmm?” I ask.
“Liam must be excited. One more win and the Wolves go to states.”
“Oh, yeah. I guess he’s happy.”
“Ah, yeah. I could barely sleep leading up to those last few games. The whole town was, well, you know. You see it now.”
I know the right response here: “I hope we win,” or maybe “It’s really exciting.” Even a simple “go Wolves” would suffice. But I look at him in the soft kitchen light, and I want to try harder.
“That must have been a lot of pressure.”
He looks up from the popcorn machine. “Yeah, it really was. And people around here don’t forget.”
“No, I guess not,” I say, handing him the container of kernels. “Do you want to go?”
“To the game?”
I nod.
“Yeah, why not? We can cheer on your boyfriend, show some town spirit.”
Auburn proud.
“Okay. It’s Friday.”
“Sounds good, Leighton.”
“How was work?” It might be the wrong thing to say, again, but if he wants us to try, then he has to try, too. He has to let us ask normal questions and not tiptoe around his temper.
“A mess,” he says, his laugh a humorless bark. “Lost out on a job outside of Philly. Got underbid. Again.”
He doesn’t sound angry, though; just sad, disappointed.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Thanks,” he says, and his hand falls to my shoulder for a moment. Sometimes I really wish he were just mean through and through. Evil is easy to hate, but broken . . . broken can love and be loved.
The kitchen is noisy with the popcorn now, and I feel like the air has been sucked out of the room.
“I’m gonna go work on my column for a bit; I’ll