“Sleeping together doesn’t count as spending time together.” I peered at him with my best wounded look, trying to appeal to the part of him I used to be able to manipulate so easily.

“I’m sorry.” He downed the remainder of his glass, placing it in the sink. “We can hang out tomorrow.”

“That’s what you always say. ”My skin was prickling, my ears began to burn. “Tomorrow there will be some other excuse.” I held onto the table. I was losing my grip.

“Why are you trying to start a fight right now?”

Outside, rain was coming down in heavy blasts. I watched the offbeat drips through the window, clinging to the rain gutters before falling to the ground. The neighbours’ wind chimes clinked together, jingling as if they were trying to score the scene. I hoisted myself up on the table and hiked up my dress, spreading my legs wide.

Jack shifted his focus between my legs. “You naughty little girl.”

I bit my lip. “If you stay, you can do whatever you want to me.”

He moved toward me, placing a hand on each of my knees. He shut my legs and kissed me. “I have to go. It’s work.”

I felt as if I’d been branded with a hot poker. I shoved him away and he stumbled backward.

“If you leave, don’t bother coming back.”

He didn’t say anything as he headed for the door.

“Jack?” I called desperately, holding back tears.

“What?” he snapped, flicking his hood over his head.

“Don’t go out the front door.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“You came in the back door,” I whispered, pointing in its direction. “It’s bad luck to leave through a different door than the one you—”

The door slammed. The floorboards vibrated under my feet. A whoosh of wind. He was already gone.

Chapter 58

When my father and my mother fought, Annabelle, William, and I would run away. We would pack our backpacks with snacks and clothes and descend into the woods, the three of us, hand in hand.

We lived beside a forest that was three acres wide. William had built us a clubhouse in an old spruce tree. He was the only one who knew where it was; whenever I tried to find it on my own, I would get lost. We would follow a trail, cross a makeshift wooden bridge over a small stream, and turn the corner at a fallen-down tree, its roots brutally exposed to the earth, a twisted tornado of pedigree.

“Gracie? Anna?” William called, turning back to look at us, his golden blond curls shimmering in the sunlight. “You have to hop from rock to rock. The ground is hot lava.”

“Okay,” I replied, hopping carefully with my arms extended straight like the wings of an airplane.

When I lifted my head, I saw that William was standing perfectly still. He held his hand up, indicating for us to stop, and I tried to peek around him. “Nobody move,” he whispered.