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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

So many days had passed since he had lived with his own child. Mornings and gloamings. Sunup, sundown. The phases of the moon: waning, waxing, gibbous. The last days of summer had passed now. That glowing green had passed with them. The wildflowers, the Confederate roses, the bluestars: gone. Now the ridges were orange and yellow, the river was narrowing in its autumnal way. The first frosts would happen soon and Cherry’s child would be born and before long he’d know how much he would be allowed to see his own. After a long while he got into his Jeep and drove home.

15

15

The Everything

The more Justin watched the clock hanging over his teacher’s desk the longer the day seemed to be, the thin, black wand of the minute hand sweeping over the numbers in slow motion. The classroom smelled of dirty hair and the markers the teacher was squeaking across the whiteboard. Justin was trying to follow along and write down what she was posting up there—questions for a quiz about the Civil War—but his eyes kept going up to the clock.

Then the spitball hit him directly in the ear, miraculously lodging in the curves just above his lobe. He swung his face around and of course that boy with Rabbit was having a laughing fit behind his grubby little hands. His fingernails hadn’t been clipped in ages and black lines of dirt stood under each one. Rabbit brought up the straw he had snuck in from the lunchroom and huffed into it, launching another spitball that stung the middle of Justin’s forehead. Justin didn’t even turn away or react. He kept his eyes on Rabbit’s pink rabbit eyes to show him how bored he was with these daily acts of meanness.

Mrs. Sherman didn’t catch any of the muffled laughter that was happening behind her now. She continued to write on the whiteboard, the squeak of the marker becoming increasingly annoying.

When Justin wouldn’t stop staring Rabbit finally thrust his middle finger into the air and mouthed “Your daddy’s a queer-lover,” which was his favorite thing to say these days. Justin turned back to his notes and sighed. Some days Rabbit was such an idiot that no matter what he did Justin wasn’t much bothered by it. Other days it was too much to bear. Most nights he laid awake and thought about ways to fight back.