“My father’s snappy counterargument, pretending he didn’t understand why she was mad at him? My mother restraining her shout with a whiplash whisper? I made myself not hear my father explaining that he liked his friends—his women friends, especially—too much to let them go. I tried to send them a thought, calm down. The next morning I got up before dawn. The kitchen was making little, meditative noises, the fridge humming, the electric clock on the wall counting down the seconds, a sound you wou...ld never notice in daylight. Henry was silent under his cover. My dad hated to throw anything away—the bird drowsed under an old pajama top. It was a comfy lope to the crest of the hill, and then an easy pace back down again, four miles round-trip, saving plenty of stamina for today’s three rounds. I opened the front door quietly, not wanting to wake anybody. I stumbled. My mom’s duffel bag was there, right by the door, with a pair of hiking boots tied together, and a makeup kit, incongruously pink, with see-through stripes, lip gloss and eyeliner inside.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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