I sneak an upward glance; he’s been known to kick me when I’m down. But he’s inspecting his knuckles. “I’m going upstairs to have a shower,” he says. His shoes have mud on them. They march away.

When I take a breath, the muscles in my side cramp, the pain like a gutting knife between my ribs.

It’s over. Until next time.

Which won’t be this week or next week. He likes to keep me on edge, though, never knowing when it’ll be or what I’ll do that will trigger him.

I try to push myself up, then collapse again, sliding down the wall. Too soon. But I don’t want Opal to find me here. Or Cassie. Another shallow breath with no cramp this time.

Nothing broken. He’s too clever for that. Took boxing when he was a young fellow, prides himself on his control.

My cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

Nausea surges up my gullet. I swallow it, sour taste and all. I need to pee. Have to wait until he’s out of the bathroom, don’t have to be too smart to figure that out. I manage to stand upright, the whole way, leaning against the wall. More sniveling. Pitiful is an understatement.

No black eye. No right to the jaw.

Clutching the back of the couch, I cross the living room. The stairs look as high as Everest. I drag myself up them, stepby-step, terrified of meeting him partway. Lurch over to the wall, edge along it, and then I’m in my room. Very quietly, I close the door.

Floyd has his rules. Never gives me a shiner when school’s on. Never uses a belt. Never comes into my room.

Not much of a room, but it’s mine. I sit on the bed, hugging my belly, head hanging. And yeah, I’m crying again. Cassie cries less than me, ain’t that the truth.

The bathroom door opens, the bedroom door shuts. I wait, willing the pain to subside, knowing it won’t until it’s good and ready. Something you might be wondering is why don’t I juice this up with a few swearwords? He’s death on swearing. In grade one I began hanging out with the Donovan boys from Swamp Road; I came home from school one day and reeled off all the neat new words they’d taught me at recess—you know the ones I mean. Floyd belted me clear into the pantry. Hard to say who was more shocked, him or me. Before that, he’d cuffed me on the ear a few times, but nothing major.

That was when the fear started.