The houses along the way were large and decadent with peaked roofs, bay windows, and decorative detailing that reminded me of the icing on a gingerbread house. As I walked farther down the street, the houses became more dilapidated. Shutters hung loose from windows, paint was chipped and peeling, and lawns were overgrown with wildflowers, weeds, and tall grass.

I saw a man in the distance, headed toward me. I looked left and right, up and down the street. I waited for a car to pass before crossing. When I reached the other side I turned my head, and just above where I had been standing, four crows were perched, evenly spaced, on the black telephone wire. One began cawing, and the others responded, echoing.

Four for a boy.

Lying on the examination table, I nodded. “Yes, I’d like to know the sex.”

“I was hoping you would.” The technician pointed to the screen. “Do you see that?

I couldn’t see anything but static. Pushing myself up closer to the screen using my elbows, I squinted. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be seeing.”

“That, there.” She used her finger to circle an area on the screen. “That’s a penis. Congratulations, it’s a boy.”

Chapter 56

Dear Sunshine,

You told me that your grandfather mined for gold. The one who died long before we were born. What happened to him? It was always such a taboo topic. But then again, we never talked about much, did we?

I saw the pictures of him and the other men. Black-and-white photographs in the mines, hard hats with flashlights and cigarettes dangling between their lips, faces blackened with soot.

You said he was a pirate, always searching for buried treasure. He’d loot shipwrecks and row to smaller islands off the coast of our own, digging in the dirt. Six feet down.

Did he ever find what he was looking for?

Did you?

Love,
G

Chapter 57

Jack and I always fought when he wanted to spend time with someone else. I felt abandoned and worthless whenever he wasn’t with me. I thought that was normal.

One evening, I was sitting in the living room reading from a collection of Anne Sexton’s poetry when I heard Jack call from the kitchen, “Babygirl, I’m going to the bar with some friends.”

“Which friends?” I closed the book and yanked my dress down over my knees, hugging my legs into my chest.

“Some painters. You don’t know them.”

“I wanted to hang out with you tonight,” I whined.

“I’m sorry, little one.”

He had been going out a lot, and I was spending the majority of my time at home alone.

I stood up and wandered into the kitchen. “I feel like I haven’t seen you at all lately, between all the late nights at the studio and days at the pub.”

“That’s not true.” Jack’s speech was slurred. He was sipping something amber from a glass. I traced my eyes along the counter, trying to find the source. An empty bottle of bourbon sat uncorked next to the sink. “We spend all our time together.”