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Chapters (77)
  1. Cover
  2. Title
  3. Also by Silas House
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Contents
  7. Part One
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. Part Two
  27. 1
  28. 2
  29. 3
  30. 4
  31. 5
  32. 6
  33. 7
  34. 8
  35. 9
  36. 10
  37. Part Three
  38. 1
  39. 2
  40. 3
  41. 4
  42. 5
  43. 6
  44. 7
  45. 8
  46. 9
  47. 10
  48. 11
  49. 12
  50. 13
  51. 14
  52. 15
  53. 16
  54. 17
  55. 18
  56. 19
  57. 20
  58. 21
  59. 22
  60. 23
  61. 24
  62. 25
  63. 26
  64. 27
  65. 28
  66. 29
  67. 30
  68. 31
  69. Part Four
  70. 1
  71. 2
  72. 3
  73. Epilogue: The Everything
  74. Acknowledgments
  75. About the Author
  76. About Algonquin
  77. Copyright

The bedroom is dark but washed in hints of whitish-gray light that falls in the open windows where curtains breathe in a passing breeze from the Atlantic. There are three framed pictures on the nightstand, all of the same little boy.

Her words drift away as he eases her down onto the unmade bed and pulls a quilt up over her bare legs where her skirt has worked itself up high on her thighs. He does not want to think that she is beautiful, but he does. He pauses, trying to figure out if he should turn her on her side in case she gets sick and needs to throw up. He reckons it is best to leave her but as soon as he takes a step back, she stirs.

“Where you going?” She raises her hand and starts to grab his wrist but drops it weakly. “Please.”

He steps out of the bedroom and puts the record player out of its repetitive misery. He places the needle on its perch, clicks off the machine and closes the door behind him.

She has left the bottle on the porch, so he pours himself a little more of the Irish whiskey. He watches as the sky turns from a dark blue to a dark purple to a bluish-lavender glow. Another Key West morning. He thinks again of Zelda and he feels sick to his stomach at what he has done to her, leaving her there in the middle of the floor like she was nothing or nobody. He deserves to go to jail. He deserves whatever is coming.

He finishes the whiskey and goes into his side of the house. He slips into Justin’s bed with him and the boy doesn’t flinch, his breathing an even purr. He lies there, worrying for all of them as light moves around the walls and ceiling, claiming the world again.

12

12

Asher spies on Bell while she receives communion from the priest who brings it to her from the big church down on Duval. They carry it to shut-ins and sick folks. Asher doesn’t know if Bell is sick or if she just doesn’t want to fool with the world but every Sunday around three o’clock here comes the little man in the white robe that flutters out behind him, glowing in the afternoon sunshine like a moth. Asher reads his lips when he holds the bread up for her (the body of Christ) and then when he put the wine to her lips (the cup of salvation).

It has been too long since Asher took communion. He wonders if he would be able to feel the bread and wine spreading all through his body like light.