A quilt of mesmerizing geometric pale-blue squares hung above a chestnut chest. Mama nodded toward it. “She made that one for you, Joan. Started it when I called and told her I was pregnant. My—I swear. You best stop jumping on that bed!”
Later that night, tucked underneath piles of quilts and blankets, Mya and I heard the muted voices of Mama and Auntie August. It came in waves, their laughter. Then pauses of long silence. A shout. A bottle banging on a countertop. More laughter. Someone softly sobbing.
Even though the room had two beds, Mya had left hers to snuggle up to me in mine, something she did whenever she was scared but didn’t want to say. Wolf was too large to fit on the twin with Mya and me already sharing it—though, Lord knows, the dog had tried. She had lain down on top of us, an eighty-pound weighted blanket of fur, and begun licking Mya’s face.
“Wolf, stop,” Mya said, pushing Wolf’s massive head away from hers.
“Wolf, down,” I commanded.
Wolf whimpered in response but obeyed. She curled herself into a ball and slept on the floor as close as she could get to the bed.
“Your forehead is so big,” Mya said. She tapped her forefinger on my forehead like sending out a line of Morse code. “It’s like a fivehead.”
I pinched her as hard as I could. “Shut up and go to sleep.”
“It’s just like Daddy’s forehead.”
I kicked her, not too hard, underneath the covers. “Go to sleep,” I shushed her.
“You look like Daddy, but I look like Mom, so I’m the pretty one.” My brow arched and I laughed. “Is that right?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“That’s fine by me. I’m the smart one.”
Mya twisted in the covers, taking most of the blankets with her. “Sometimes.” She paused. “You are kind of smart.” She took her sweet time saying “kind of.”
“God, I want a brother.”
“You think we’ll see him again?”
“Who?” I asked.
“I thought you were the smart one!” Mya’s voice was singsongy, mocking.
I didn’t want to think about Daddy. Daddy: the violent villain. And yet, I missed him like a limb. Missed even the smell of his hands. Shoe polish for his military boots he’d polish every night, and cigarettes. Those Kools.
“We should go exploring tomorrow,” I said, changing the subject.
A sudden boom shocked us all. Wolf was up on all fours in less than a second, hairs raised from the back of her neck to her tail. She growled low.
Mya grabbed my arm, dug in with her nails and shook it. “What was that?” she hissed. She had always been afraid of storms. Howls of wind would send her running to Mama’s lap or Wolf’s mane.
Mama and Auntie August’s voices stopped for a moment, then resumed.
“Shh, it’s not a storm,” I said to Wolf.
“I don’t like it here no more,” Mya said. “I changed my mind.” Then: “What the boy do to you?”
“Nothing.”
“You won’t tell me?”
“I won’t.”
“You will.” A pause. Wolf settled back down next to us. “I’ll kill him if you want.”
“My!” I said.
“I can. Sneak into his room when he’s sleeping. Whack him in the head with a pot.”
I laughed. Mya giggled. Elbowed me hard in the ribs. I pushed her back, gently.