Page 26 - My FlipBook

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

Greta could feel anger bristling from him before he even
spoke. He said, “She was lucky it was you.”
Ash turned on a lamp on her nightstand and picked up
the box. Sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back to
Greta, he examined each picture. From her blanket cocoon
she watched his long neck tilt down, his head shift from the
box to each photo. It took a long time.
They heard the back door open, then Roger’s and Patty’s

voices. Ash gathered the sloping pile of photos and dropped
them back in the box, some spilling over the sides to the
floor. Roughly he shoved it all under the bed and stood in
front of her.
“There are three left.” Ash’s long arms, hanging near
Greta’s eyes, trembled. His fingers curled in, rolling tightly
into fists. ADVANCE READING COPY

She felt sick again. A lifetime in pictures—all that remained
of that life—and only three had survived. She couldn’t ask
Ash which ones. What if one was a group shot, her mom’s
blurry head half covered by another? Or one of her arm and
shoulder as she dangled a baby over an inflatable swimming
pool? If Ash left to rough up Patty, she wouldn’t move to stop
him. She pressed her face into the pillow. “I…” She started
to say I hate her, but the words seemed useless, inadequate to
describe the monster clawing at her insides.

“It ends now. It’s us or her.” Ash turned and walked out
the door, closing it behind him.
Greta let him go fight the battle. She didn’t know herself
what she might say or do. No boundaries anymore.

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