Two minutes later my mom stormed out of the house. I was sitting next to Joel helping him brush gravel from his knee. I assumed she would take my side when she heard the whole story. Heck, I thought she’d reward me for standing up for my brother. Instead she dragged me by my arm into the house. Once inside, my dad took off his belt, something I’d previously only heard about, and whipped me on the backside five times. I can still remember each stroke. Then my parents made me apologize. I had never been so glad as when their station wagon pulled out of our driveway. I don’t remember who I was more mad at, the boys or my parents.

CHAPTER Twenty-four

I sense that the hourglass is emptying.

GRACE’S DIARY

The next month passed like a dream. I suppose this happens in most relationships, but Grace and I had settled into a routine, almost like a married couple. With all the publicity, Grace was no longer safe walking outside in daylight. Even the library had posted a “missing girl” poster on their front door.

The thickness of her red pouch had dwindled and I had to start bringing her food again. I sneaked food from home or the Queen when I could, but I was also spending much of my paycheck feeding her. I knew Grace felt bad about this. She apologized and thanked me, usually in the same breath. And while she wasn’t eating as much as she had when she first came, she still seemed to be gaining weight.

During the day Grace spent her time reading, listening to the radio, and writing in her journal, but mostly just waiting for me to get home from school or work.

Her routine necessitated a change in my schedule as well. On the nights I worked I would come straight home, tell my parents good night (if they were still awake), then slip out my bedroom window.

We held hands and took long moonlit walks either on our street or in the surrounding neighborhoods. We talked about things I still think about today. Grace had a wisdom about life that far surpassed mine. On one of those walks we talked about love.

“Do your parents love each other?” she asked.

“Yeah. I think so. They still fight sometimes, but they always make up.”

She pondered my reply then asked, “Have you ever been in love?”

“I don’t know,” I said softly. “How do you really know when you’re in love?”

She stopped walking and smiled at me. “When you don’t have to ask.”

I never told her, but I knew in my heart that everything was moving toward some kind of flashpoint. I didn’t know how or when it would arrive, but it was coming. I could feel it, like the tremor of a distant approaching freight train.