He gives me an easy salute before he steps back on the tailgate; the truck pulls a U-turn.

So what was that conversation all about?

And why do I feel two inches tall?

10.2 [amethyst: spiritual calm and healing]

AS DOCKER disappears down the road on the back end of the truck, AQ shoots up from nowhere and lodges itself in my throat.

AQ + adrenaline = a brutal mix.

The mix doesn’t last long. AQ wins, hands down. Floyd’s going to cream me when he gets home. I should take my savings out of the bank and buy a one-way ticket on the first bus to Halifax.

Can’t. Can’t leave Cassie.

Cassie ... I’m supposed to be protecting her, keeping her out of harm’s way. For harm read Floyd. What the hell was I thinking, provoking Floyd like that?

The answer’s simple. I wasn’t thinking. I was high as a kite, high as if I’d snorted some of Snyder’s best, riding the high and forgetting all my own rules, like caution, common sense, and keeping a low profile.

What if Floyd flattens me first, then turns on Cassie? Oh man, I’m the biggest screwup on the planet.

I go behind the garage for a while, where I try to concentrate on blocks, punches, and kicks. No conviction in them. No power behind them.

My knuckles hurt where I punched Snyder. When I kicked him, I used my toes instead of the side of my foot, so they hurt too.

I’ll deal with you tonight ...

If I’m flat on the floor, I can’t protect Cassie.

*

WHEN OPAL comes downstairs late afternoon to make herself some herbal tea, I say, “I want you to stay down here until Floyd comes home—he’s laying for me.”

“What did you do?”

“Does it matter? If it gets out of hand, I want you to stop him.”

She fills her Japanese teapot with boiling water and puts it on a tray. “Why did you set him off? I’ve warned you about that, especially when he’s so uptight about work.”

“The message being that he can do whatever he wants and Cassie and I are supposed to put up with it? I told you, he hits Cassie!”

“I blame your grandfather for all this.”

“Thaddeus? He’s been dead for years.”

She rubs her hands down her skirt. “He wasn’t a good father to Floyd.”

Bullying gets handed down, is that what she’s saying? I wonder what else gets passed along. “Your mother’s sister—your aunt—is she the one who brought you up?”

I’ve never asked her that before.

“Aunt Grace,” Opal says. “Whoever named her was having a bad day.” She bangs her pottery mug on the tray. “Once Floyd’s home, I’ll keep an ear open.”