Still I was wanting to think that Mom and Miriam had come to get me. So badly I yearned to be taken home, I did not immediately absorb the meaning of the cardboard boxes.

It was true—I was frightened of Lionel. But Lionel had been arrested by this time . . .

Yes, Lionel been arrested. But no he was not in police custody.

His bail bond, like Jerome Jr.’s, had been posted by my father and so Lionel was still living in the house and in this way presented a clear and present danger for me in the eyes of Children’s Protective Services.

Rat bitch. Rat cunt. We’ll take your fucking head off.

The bail bond for manslaughter was much lower than the bail bond for homicide would have been. Still, Daddy had had to present a cashier’s check ($60,000) to the South Niagara district court, to assure that Jerome Jr. and Lionel would not flee before their crimes had been adjudicated; for most of this money he’d had to take out a second mortgage on the house.

It was Miriam who informed me of this news. For my mother could barely bring herself to speak to me at all.

Miriam saying to me, in a whisper, as if a whisper were less accusatory, yes sure there was a chance our parents would “lose” the house. What’d I think? Was I stupid?

My mother’s hands leapt to her face. As if, not wanting to hear what Miriam had whispered, she’d covered her (bloodshot) eyes instead of her ears.

Miriam exchanged a quick savage glance with me. Meaning—don’t upset Mom. Try.

The visit did not last long. Fifteen minutes? Ten? Slow—at first—as the cranking-up of a roller-coaster ride, as the doomed car ascends the first, sickening hilly loop of track. But then, fast.

Staring at boxes with my things in them on the floor of the cell-like room without recognizing what they were and what they meant.

In a halting voice at last my mother spoke. Through a buzzing in my ears I heard some of what she said.

Violet how could you! Ruining our lives.

Your father can’t even talk about it. Can’t talk about you.

As long as you can stay here you’d better. There’s no place for you at home.

And don’t you dare cry! This is all your doing.

I had not been away from my mother for more than a few days. In this time she seemed to have aged. Her skin was floury-white. Beside her mouth were deepening lines. Her eyelids, like mine, were reddened and swollen. She was swallowing compulsively as if the interior of her mouth was very dry. (As Katie would tell me later, Mom has been sedated. No one knew exactly how many pills she was taking but no one was supposed to speak of it.)