He walked straight into my mother’s room and I didn’t stop him; I just stood in the doorway and watched as he put his glass on the dresser. He switched on a light, turning the room the color of honey, and then walked over to a chair that was piled with clothes from the day before. He lifted her blouse and dropped it so that it fluttered back down as if it had fairy wings. Her bed wasn’t made and he sat on it, pumping up and down as if he was testing the springs. Then he stood in the middle of the room, breathing her in and when he was finished he turned off the light and picked up his milk.

He walked into the hallway and I followed him into my room. I sat on the bed and again watched as he walked around, looking at my things, sometimes picking items up to hold in his hand. He looked at a photo of Franny and then he walked over to the window.

“When’s your mother coming home?”

“Not till late.”

He came over to the bed and sat at the edge of the mattress so that all I could see was the back of his head. He held the glass in his hands and stared down at the floor. The ice cubes must have all melted—there were very few clinking noises coming from the glass.

The window was open and between the chirps of the birds there was quiet. Something pushed me to fill it. Maybe I had known all along or maybe I had just decided, but either way, I told him. “I’m going back.”

He turned to look at me. Milk speckled his upper lip. “I know.”

He looked like there was something he wanted to say, but then he didn’t. Instead, he went downstairs and the next thing I knew, he was gone and I was alone.

I went into the kitchen and wiped the melted ice cubes from the floor. I washed the glass and put it back in the dish rack. I scrubbed the kitchen counter, trying hard to focus so that I didn’t have to hear his ­muffled voice coming from next door, and then I poured the rest of the milk down the sink, watching as it coated the basin, leaving behind a thin film of white that took several seconds to clear.

As the days passed, I thought a lot about Daryl and Franny and how it was all coming apart and how I had no idea how to put it back together. One afternoon, I found myself standing in front of their door, pretending that I didn’t care if my mother caught me. It was unlocked and opened at my touch.

Her lipstick was smeared and it looked like she had lost her balance. Sara grabbed me by the arm and pulled me inside. “Come in.”