Page 12 - My FlipBook

L IS A J. L A W R E N C E

During Patty’s flurry of cursing, Greta let herself out the
front door, climbing the steps of the concrete stairwell cave.
Across the street their neighbor vacuumed the interior of his
yellow Volvo, both doors hanging open. He straightened and
waved to Greta. He was tall and pale with a nest of ginger
hair. Slightly buggy eyes and an open face. Greta recognized
him from Ash’s English class. He watched her as if she might
stop and talk. She walked faster, checking over her shoulder

to make sure he hadn’t followed her.
Greta circled the block a few times, crunching the brittle
ice of unshoveled walks. Snow heaped in knee-high dunes on
either side. Bleak January afternoon, like the sun never fully
rose. Before going back inside, she listened at the bottom of
the steps. All quiet.
No one in the living room. Greta tapped on her brother’s ADVANCE READING COPY

door—technically the storage room—and opened it when he
didn’t answer.
He lay on a rumpled single mattress, staring at a bare bulb
dangling from a wire. The back wall was covered with wide,
rough shelves—the kind you’d put boxes or canned goods on.
Ash had piled a few books there, but the shelves sat mostly
empty. No windows. She sat on the bed next to him.
“Why did Dad marry her?” she asked, not really expecting
an answer.

“So he wouldn’t have to think anymore,” Ash said.
“What do you mean?”
He propped himself up on an elbow to face her. “If Patty
knows everything and decides everything, what does Roger

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