The next five minutes are best forgotten. Floyd doesn’t know gentle, and although Opal tries to shield me, she’s not strong enough. I groan my way up the stairs, feeble as a sick dog. When I’m settled in bed, she draws the covers over me, and dimly I’m grateful because I’m bone-shaking cold. After she feeds me a couple of Advil, she leaves the room. I start shivering like it’s February, not July.

Was I crying when Floyd was pounding me? I’ll never know.

The creak of hinges stirs me from a stupor that’s part sleep, part plain old endurance. I open my good eye. Cassie edges into the room, closing the door behind her. She climbs up on the bed and burrows into me. Muscles in my chest go into spasm. My breath hisses between my teeth. She’s warm though, and a stray thought drifts through my brain ... maybe I need her as bad as she needs me.

Me need Cassie? Your brain’s addled, Brick. Too many blows to the head.

We lie still. Endurance isn’t a pastime I recommend. Then she whispers, “You okay?”

“Mmm ... You were a good girl to go upstairs, Cassie.”

A sob hiccups in her chest. “If I’d been watching Nemo, I’d have heard him coming.”

“With AC/DC cranked up so loud? Nah.” Even though every word hurts, I persevere. “It wasn’t your fault. It’s never your fault.”

“Never ever?”

“It’s his fault. Always.”

“You hit him.”

“Yeah ... I hit him.” I feel, deep down, a flicker of pride.

Which is followed by a terror that drenches me in sweat. I hit Floyd? There’s disobedience and there’s insanity. If ever I should run away from home, it’s now.

I can’t even lift my head off the pillow.

Cassie has to be hungry. But she doesn’t complain. Eventually we doze off. When I wake up, she’s gone, the crows are cutting a racket in the trees behind the house, and the sun’s shining. Thought it was supposed to rain ... Marigold might get those petunias planted today.

Cassie left Rover for me. His shiny black skunk-eyes are staring at me. Okay, buddy, I got me a black eye too.

I could buy her a teddy bear. A white one with a pink bow around its neck.

4.1 [all the comforts of home]

THE DAY goes like this:

Take a leak.

Look in the mirror. Wish I hadn’t. Right eye black, shading to maroon. Lip split, cheek swollen.

Teeth still attached.

Have a shower. Loosens me up some. My chest—my skinny chest—looks like somebody planted purple petunias all over it.

Take anti-inflammatories. Maximum dose.

Ask Cassie to bring ice packs and toast upstairs. Eat the toast. More peanut butter in her hair than on the bread.

Worry about her.