If These Wings Could Fly - Kyrie McCauley Page 0,78
at the base of the glass where he must have struck it.
In the living room, nothing is on the walls, and the frames on the floor are all broken, the glass inside splintered.
There is a dent in the wall where one of the frames was thrown. I bend down and pick it up. It’s the homecoming picture, but the two faces in the photo aren’t visible through the shattered glass. I set it back down gently.
I gesture for Campbell and Juniper to go to my room.
“You left us there,” Mom says. And there’s something there I haven’t seen before. Her own anger.
“I hate this town,” he says. “I can’t get work. The business is done, Erin. Done. And we try to get away from it all for one night—one goddamn night—and all anyone can talk about is my other major failure, even though it was twenty years ago. Enough!”
On the last word, he kicks the living room chair over, and it cracks against the wall. Dust and plaster fall to the carpet.
“It is enough,” Mom says. “You have to go.”
“What?” He stops, turns on her. “What did you say to me?”
“You need to leave.”
“This is my house.”
“Fine, then we’ll leave.” Mom heads for the stairs, but he cuts her off, one hand going to either side of her, so she’s trapped against the wall.
“Go upstairs, Leighton,” he says.
“Mom,” I start.
But he turns to me, lifts the vase from our coffee table, and hurls it into the wall next to me.
I run upstairs, but I don’t go to my room. I sit on the top step and peer through the bars of the railing.
“You aren’t going anywhere,” he says, and he walks into the kitchen, takes Mom’s car keys off the counter, and pockets them. “You want your keys, come get them.”
Mom stands in the living room.
“Get them!” he screams. When she doesn’t move, he laughs.
“That’s what I thought.”
He goes into the living room and turns off his music. He turns the television on and starts flipping through the channels.
I slip into my bedroom before Mom comes upstairs.
None of us says a word when she climbs into bed next to Campbell, Juniper, and me.
Auburn, Pennsylvania
December 14
CROW POPULATION:
64,759
Chapter Fifty-Eight
WHEN WE WAKE UP, EVERYTHING THAT was broken last night is not broken anymore. But this time I know Mom sees it, because when we come downstairs, she runs her hand over the glass that is once again smooth in the picture frames, and the part of the wall where he smashed the vase near my head.
It is a quiet, long weekend.
He never gives her keys back.
He doesn’t let us leave the house.
He keeps the phone with him.
This time, I don’t feel like challenging him. This time, I don’t feel fearless. I feel powerless.
On Sunday afternoon, I’m working on my final crow column in my room. It’s about the town hall meeting and the last bit of crow folklore—the Morrigan. In Celtic mythology, she was the shape-shifting goddess of war, fate, and death. She was most often depicted as a crow flying over battlefields and crying out for the dead. Sometimes she was seen as a predictor of death, landing on the shoulders of those who would soon meet their fate.
I’m proofreading when a shadow crosses my desk. My room stays dark, and when I look outside, I see why—there are crows filling the sky. Dark like storm clouds, so thick they’re blocking out the sun.
I open my window and watch them fly.
Auburn Township voted to allocate thousands of dollars to bring in experts to help drive the birds away. They begin their work as soon as the new year starts, so the crows have just a few weeks left here.
The wind picks up, hitting a pile of papers on my desk, and pages start to fly everywhere. I slam the window closed and turn to clean up the mess.
A familiar pink flyer lies on the floor in front of me. The scholarship contest. The deadline is tomorrow at midnight. Auburn born, Auburn proud.
This is what I know of pride. I know that it keeps the secrets of cruel men. I know that it holds us in the shadows, because we are too proud to admit we need help. I know that pride values a man’s reputation over a woman’s life. It calls her selfish for speaking up, even when she speaks the truth. Especially then.
This is what I know of Auburn. I know about frantic knocking that goes ignored in the middle of