CHAPTER1
Five-year-old Ivy Gleason huddled in the corner of her bedroom beneath a small tent made from a thin superhero bed sheet. One side was taped to the wall, the other draped over a kitchen chair covered in peeling red vinyl. A small lamp illuminated the space, diecast cars lined up along imaginary roads.
Driving rain drummed heavily on the roof of the trailer, drowning out the sound of her stomach growling. In her arms she held a naked plastic doll with one eye open and one eye closed. “Are you hungry, baby?” she whispered, rocking her gently in her arms. “You’ve been such a good girl today. I can make you some dinner.”
A riotous crack of thunder made her jump, and she hugged the dolly close to her chest. Going in search of dinner meant leaving her tiny fortress, but she’d waited as long as she could. “Come on, baby. Let’s get some food.”
She crawled out of the tent. A pot sat atop her bedspread, water running from a drip in the ceiling in a steady stream and spilling over onto Ivy’s bed in a dark, round stain.
Momma would be angry. Ivy didn’t want to empty the pot, but she knew she had to. She put the doll down and picked up the pot, water sloshing over the side as she headed toward the bathroom. A crack of thunder made her spill a bit of water. She paused at the mouth of the dimly lit hallway and stared into the darkness. The bulb had been out for days and days, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Another boom of thunder made her shake, sloshing water onto her nightie.
She scrunched her face in frustration and made haste to the bathroom, turning on a light before emptying the pot into the shower. Her mother’s clothes littered the floor, and Ivy collected them into a pile before running to put the pot back on her soaking-wet bed.
She grabbed her dolly. “I could make you some noodles. Would you like that?” The hallway was lit from the bathroom light, and she made her way toward the kitchen with quiet footsteps, not knowing what she would find when she got there. Momma wasn’t playing music. She always played music when she was happy.
Ivy’s stomach growled again. She’d cooked macaroni and cheese for breakfast, but that was a long time ago. Sometimes Momma made food when she played music, and the two of them would dance and sing, but when it was quiet like this, Ivy was on her own.
Her mother sat at the kitchen table with her back to the girl, cigarette smoke hanging in the air like fog. Beside her, a glass was half-full of amber-colored liquid, a nearly empty bottle beside it. A small TV on the wall showed a woman in a wedding dress twirling before a mirror.
“Hi, Momma.”
She turned her head slightly, her face in profile. “Hey, baby.”
“Are you hungry?” Ivy asked. “I could make us some food.”
“Not really.”
Ivy put her doll on the table and pulled a chair across the room. “I’ll make enough for you, in case you change your mind.” A pot of dried out macaroni and cheese sat on the stove, and she carefully washed it out before filling the pot with water, climbing onto a chair and getting another blue box out of the cupboard.
Her mother’s cell phone rang and she answered it. “Hello?” she said, repeating herself several times before hanging up. She turned to Ivy for the first time. “Must have been a wrong number.”
Momma’s face was sad and her eyes were red. Ivy got down from the chair and gently touched her mother’s cheek. “Were you crying?”
Her momma’s face crumpled and she nodded, the sickly sweet smell of liquor wafting toward Ivy’s face as she spoke. “Men suck, Ivy-baby. Don’t ever fall in love with a man.”
Ivy clutched her doll more tightly. “I won’t, I promise.” She put her arms around her mother and squeezed.
“They just tell you lies and leave you with babies to raise. They don’t care about no one but themselves, and don’t you forget it.”
“Okay.” Ivy stared at a cigarette burning in an ashtray full of butts. Suddenly, the room went dark, the relentless pounding of the rain the only noise left.
Her mother pulled back. “Goddamn it, I just wanted to watch my show. I wanted a little peace, just one fucking night to myself, and this happens.” Her mother stood, the chair squeaking, and Ivy scooted to the side, pressing her back against the counter.
She hated when Momma got mad, and she wished she could find her dolly in the darkness. “It’ll come on again soon,” said the girl.
“How do you know?”
Ivy shrunk as her mother’s voice grew louder. “It always comes back on.”
“Go to your room, Ivy.”
She thought of the long hallway, no longer illuminated by the bathroom light. She thought of her tent, completely in darkness. “I want to stay with you.”
“I said, go to your room.”
“But—”
“Damn it, Ivy, I said go!”
