I crept down the hall as quietly as possible. The high-pile carpet muffled my footsteps, allowing me to pass Hank and Mom’s bedroom in total silence. I couldn’t hear him inside, but that didn’t surprise me; Mom was usually the one who snored.
I padded downstairs, getting sloppy as I neared the bottom. My bare feet met the cold tile with a slap.
Avoiding the path to the kitchen that required me to open a door, I walked around to the side that faced the family room and paused in front of the pantry. My imagination was already carbo-loading with visions of bagels and breakfast cereal and honey mustard pretzels. My hand twisted the handle and inched open the door, pausing as itcreak-eak-eaked.
A voice spoke from the darkness of the family room.
“Whatcha doin’, sport?”
A cold knife of fear stabbed through me. “Nothing,” I blurted out, stumbling back from the pantry.
Hank sat in the recliner facing in the opposite direction, the crown of his blond head just visible above the headrest.
“I don’t think you wanna do that.”
My gaze fell on the hand slung over the armrest, the loose fist dangling a clutch of rope.
Why did he have that? What was he planning to do with it?
My feet were already moving beneath me, carrying me back out of the kitchen.
Without a word, I raced upstairs to my room, locked the door, and pulled the covers up over my head. Shaking, but no longer thinking of food.
During lunch period the following day, I went into the front office and asked if I could use the phone to call my mom. “Everything okay?” the school secretary said.
“I just need to talk to her.”
“If you know her number.” She lifted the handset onto the counter.
Mom answered after the first ring, her voice tense. “Hello?” She was a worrier by nature, always on guard for tragic news.
“It’s Emmett.”
“Honey, what’s wrong? What happened?”
I paused, noticing the secretary listening in. I turned and stepped away from the counter. “It’s Hank again.”
“Fuck. What is it, what’d he do?”
“He didn’t give me any dinner last night.”
She gasped.
“I went down for a snack like you said and he was there. Waiting.” I didn’t mention the rope. It was so strange, part of me wondered if I hadn’t imagined it.
“I’ll call Mrs. Dasko right now, ask her to get a few things. Stop by her house after school. Make sure you have space in your backpack.”
“You mean hide them in my room?”
“Don’t let him see. I’ll try to be home tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow?Why not tonight?”
“I just need some time away, honey. You’ll be okay. I gotta go, but I love you.”
Her love was getting harder to stomach. I hung up.
Hank was in the backyard when I got home, crouched over the planter with pesticide and pruning shears. Along with my weight, the garden had become his obsession. Even in the cooler months,his tropical hibiscus, birds-of-paradise, and banana palms flourished.
