PROLOGUE
Rory
Five years old
The house isnew, and I’m not sure I like it. Mom has hardly left her room. She didn’t at the old house either, but at least I knew that place better.
I don’t know where my dad is. He left yesterday, and I haven’t seen him since. I heard him talking about working for the O’Sheas now…maybe that’s why we moved here?
“Mom?”
She stirs in bed. “Hi, sweetheart.” She tries to smile, but it looks hard. Why is it hard for her to smile?
“Do you want to make a plane with me?” It’s one of the only things that can get her out of bed sometimes. She does most of the work, but I’m learning, and I like that she makes them for me, with me. It’s my favorite thing.
“A little later, okay?” She rolls over, her back to me. “Mom is really tired.”
She’s always tired. Mom and Dad fight about it a lot.
My stomach is growling, so I go into the kitchen, make a bowl of cereal, and eat it. I explore the house, play outside. Some kids tried to talk to me, but I threw rocks at them until they left me alone.
Dad is still gone and Mom’s still sleeping when I goinside. Maybe she’s hungry too! If I make her some food, maybe she won’t be tired anymore.
I find a pan—most things are still in boxes—then push a chair to the sink so I can fill it with water. Once it’s full, I push the chair to the stove and set the pan on top before turning the burner on.
Mesmerized by the sparking blue flames, I watch it for a few minutes, then get bored and explore the house some more. There are so many rooms! It’s not until I hear the weird popping sound that I remember and run back into the kitchen to see the water boiling over, hitting the pretty flames. I don’t want to turn it off because I like how it looks, getting lost in it for a minute, watching more water boil over.
When I hear the front door open, I know I’ll get in trouble, so I rush to turn off the burner, hot water splashing my hand, a sharp sting burning my skin, but I don’t make a sound.
“Jesus, Rory. What are you doing?” Dad asks, but I don’t answer. I always disappoint him, and I hate that. I just want to make him proud. “Did you hear me?”
I turn to the man with him and scowl. “Who are you?”
“Don’t talk to him that way.” Dad grabs me by the arm, pulling me off the chair. “You show him respect.”
“It’s fine,” the man says, kneeling in front of me. “I’m Rian. Nice to meet you, Rory.”
He holds his hand out for me, but I don’t take it.
“How was school today?” he asks.
“I don’t go to school,” I snap.
“Preschool?” he asks.
“I don’t need it. I’m a big boy.” But it looks fun on the shows I watch.
“Keeva hasn’t enrolled him here yet,” Dad says, but he’s lying. I’ve never gone to school at all. I asked once if I couldgo, and Mom said soon.
“He’s almost six, correct? Get it done.” Rian stands. “Moira can help if needed.”
My dad’s hands tighten into fists. I can tell he’s mad, but he only nods.
“Go get your things,” Rian tells my dad, who glances at me, then goes upstairs.
“Have you ever gone to preschool?” he asks. I shake my head. “Where is your mom?”
“Fuck you.”
