PROLOGUE
GRACE
Age Seven
Slam!
I rub the confusion from my eyes as I wake to loud noises, painful ones that cut through the walls and slip beneath my bedroom door like monsters in the dark. I lie very still, my stuffed bear tucked under my chin, listening. I shouldn’t be surprised. This has been happening a lot more lately.
My door is cracked enough that I can see the glow of the light from down the hallway and the shadow of my father pacing past it. He’s yelling again. I can’t make out every word, but I catch a few.
“Elvis this, Elvis that. You spend every dime of our money on this shit. The place looks like something from a Liberace home tour.”
I frown into my pillow.What’s a Liberace?
“Our money?” my mom snaps back. “That would mean we werebothearning a paycheck.”
There’s a pause. Then his voice drops. It sounds scary. Mean.
“And don’t even get me started on the lack of sex in this marriage. Hell, some men would worry their wife was cheating on them. But I have to compete with a dead guy.”
The words make my tummy feel bad, even though I don’t understand what he’s saying. But I don’t think seven-year-old girls are supposed to hear stuff like that. His words sound ugly. Why is Daddy being so mean? I squeeze my bear tighter.
I hear only muffles of sound after that. I can’t tell what’s happening.
My dad hasn’t ever been the kind who lets me paint his fingernailslike Penny’s dad does. He doesn’t sit at my toy tea set or play make-believe.
But it’s not his fault. I don’t think he knows what to do with me. I think maybe he was supposed to be a boy dad. Sometimes he lets me sit beside him during football games if I stay quiet. And he buys me Pittsburgh Steelers shirts and jerseys like he’s hoping I’ll grow into them. Or root for them like him one day. So I try to like boy things. Just in case.
A door slams. Then the arguing gets louder. Even louder than it’s ever been. Curious, I rub my eyes and slip out of bed, padding down the hallway in my socks. I hold my breath so I won’t get caught listening. Because I know I’d be in big trouble. Then I see it.
My father’s suitcase is sitting by the front door.
My tummy starts to really hurt now. What is happening? Where is he going?
I don’t remember deciding to move. But now I’m running. My feet slapping against the floor, my throat burning as I cry out. “Daddy. Daddy, please don’t go.” Tears blur my eyes. I turn to my mom, waiting for her to tell him to stay. For her to beg him to stay. To fix this.
She’s crying too. Like she already knows something I don’t. Why won’t she say something? Make him stop!
“Sorry, Grace. I can’t do this anymore.” And with that, he walks out of the door.
And out of my life.
Can’t do what? Was it me? I want to run after him. Tell him I’ll try harder to be more like a boy. I’ll do whatever he wants if he’ll only stay.
I throw myself on the floor near the bottom of the closed front door and wail. My mother gathers me in her arms, rocking me back and forth.
He isn’t coming back. I know it.
Grace
Present Day
A strange senseof foreboding settles over me as soon as I step out of the car, the kind that wraps around my torso, making it just a bit harder to breathe. My stomach growls. Is it hunger or nerves? I’d like to blame skipping dinner on a busy evening at work, but my wallet knows the truth. I pause at the curb, keenly aware of how quiet everything is. My eyes bounce from one parked car to another. But, nothing.
I’ve never been like this. Never had issues with anxiety or panic attacks. Not even after my dad left. So why now? Is it because I’m scared my relationship has run its course? Or is it something darker I can’t quite name?
His car isn’t here.Again. Maybe he’s out with the guys. I tell myself I’m being paranoid, but the unease doesn’t loosen its grip. And beneath it all, there’s that persistent, prickling up my spine and a sense of hidden attention lurking somewhere in the shadows.
