Page 2 of Shatter

"There's a man there. Walt. He's family, a cousin of Morfar's." She tucks my hair behind my ear. "Far-away family. He'll be waiting when you land. He has a dog, and a room for you."

"Are you coming?"

She doesn't answer.

"I'll be good." The words tumble out too fast. "I won't be loud anymore. I'll go to bed when you say."

Mamma closes her eyes.

Then she digs in her purse and pulls out the little silver scissors she uses for loose threads.

My backpack sits on the floor between us. My name is sewn across the top in red letters. ESPEN. She stitched it herself the week before first grade.

She starts cutting it off.

"That's mine."

I grab for it, and she holds it out of reach like the knives in the kitchen drawer.

It takes her four tries. The scissors are too small, and her hands won't stop shaking.

When the strip finally comes loose, she folds it once and pushes it deep into the pocket of her red coat.

"Mamma."

"You don't tell anyone your old name." She grabs both my shoulders, fingers digging in. "Not Walt, not anybody at school. Do you hear me?"

"Does Pappa know?"

Her face goes hard, like the lake in January.

"No."

I think about Pappa's leather vest hanging by the front door, with the dead man sewn on the back. Black holes for eyes. Teeth.

When I was little, I used to hide behind the couch so it couldn't see me.

I think about Pappa at the hospital, standing at the window with his phone while Mamma cried behind the curtain.

He didn't go in to her.

He said names I didn't know, and he said they would pay, every one of them, and he never saw me sitting in the plastic chair by the door.

Behind us, a luggage cart slams into a pillar.

The bang goes straight through me.

And I'm back in the car.

Mamma's singing with the radio, off-key on purpose so I'll laugh.

Headlights fill the back window, too bright, then slide up beside us.

Close.

Too close.

Pop.