I blink rapidly, stare at my familiar walls, the butterflies, their sleek bodies, their satin, colored wings. I can’t think about him now, can’t think about that kiss, the fire it ignited beneath my skin. I pick it up, place it gently on the dresser. The wooden heart Lucas carved for me is lying on top of a wrinkled pair of jeans. I kick around the pile of clothes on the floor next to my bed.

The bedspread is pulled off the bed, all my books tossed out of the bookcase, the closet turned inside out. In my room, all the dresser drawers are opened and the contents spilled onto the carpet. I stare at my parents’ closed bedroom door. The late afternoon shadows spill from every object, now harsh and unfamiliar. I enter the house and wander the rooms like a ghost. The stalks of corn in the fields behind our house are withered, shriveled and crushed into the dirt. Outside, the earth is a barren, frozen brown, the sky bloated with the thwarted promise of snow. Two days later, they tell me I can go back to the house. I push the newspaper off the counter and watch it flutter to the tile floor. Even in death, our family doesn’t warrant a front-page headline. “Brokewater Woman Slays Husband, Confesses” reads the article third from the top. Pastor Torrès left a copy of the Cass County Gazette on the counter. I hit the end button and slump down at Arianna’s kitchen table. Hold tight, okay? We’re taking care of them. I can get it for him, once the house is no longer a crime scene. I hate the fact they’re gone because of me. Are they okay? Is anyone hurting them? I hate my helplessness. “When can I see them?” I’ve thought of them a million times every day. She hasn’t committed to anything yet, but I’m hopeful she’ll take the boys and get them out of the system.” I gave her your number, so she may call you.

“Yes, honey, but I called to tell you about your aunt. The defense requests a sentencing, and the prosecutor makes a recommendation.

They have to come to an agreement on the charges. “Since your mother is pleading guilty, the lawyers will battle it out in a pretrial conference. “So what happens next?” I ask the lady, twisting my rings over and over around my fingers. I don’t know if 500 grand is low or not, but we couldn’t put down one percent of that, let alone the insane amount a bail bond would require. The public defender argued for a low bail amount. It’s the friend of the court child advocate lady, Michelle or Michaela or something, who calls me to tell me my mother’s been arraigned. I only know Ma was appointed a public defender since we have no money. I keep waiting to wake up from this nightmare, but I never do.įor days, I have no idea what’s going on.

Dont touch my cheese in ratty catty