But when he slunk into her room at night, he would hide behind pitiful slyness. He’d camouflage baser motives with apologies about losing his temper. But she knew he felt no regrets over that. If only he’d just admit that he’d come in to check on her progress at turning into a woman, that he wanted a form of intimacy he knew to be inappropriate. Then maybe she could react, holler at him to leave her alone. But his feigned innocence always gave him an excuse. “You’re just sensitive,” he’d say. “What, a father can’t give his little girl a hug?”

And there was no use trying to talk to her mother about this. She numbed herself with scotch, cigarettes, and television, but mostly scotch. What chance was there that she would come to the defense of her daughters when she wouldn’t defend herself against her husband’s bursts of outrage and backhanded slaps?

It was older sister Claire she turned to. It was Claire with whom she shared her secrets. It was Claire who told her how to cope.

And it was Claire who begged her to leave with her. But Miranda said, “You’re eighteen. If you go, they can’t make you come back. I’m just fifteen. He’d call the police. They’d bring me back.”

“I wouldn’t let them,” Claire said.

But as much as Miranda admired, worshipped, her sister, she didn’t believe she had those powers. She wasn’t strong enough to protect her against her father and the authorities.

One night, it was Claire who came in to see her. Miranda pulled the sheets about her tightly, but when she heard her sister whisper her name, she relaxed.

“I’m going.” Claire said.

“Where? What do you mean?” Miranda asked.

“I’m leaving. Now. I’m not coming back.”

Miranda felt her heart in her throat. “Don’t go,” she whispered.

“I can’t stay here another night.” There were tears in Claire’s eyes. “Come with us.”

“I have a math test tomorrow,” Miranda said. Math was probably the only thing that gave her any sense of accomplishment, the only thing she was really good at. Her father was good at telling her she was pretty much useless, and it rankled him when she came home with perfect math marks, proving him wrong. “It’s worth fifteen percent,” she protested.

“Jesus, forget your math test. I’m talking about getting out of here!”

“Shhh!” Miranda said. She didn’t want her father coming in, taking the belt to the both of them.

“They’re asleep,” Claire said. “He’s passed out, they’re both passed out.”

“Where’s your stuff? How can you just leave?”

Claire’s bags—and that’s what they were, bags—were all packed. They were already at the end of the drive. Her boyfriend, Don, was going to pick her up.

“Where will you go?” Miranda asked.

“Anywhere. Any place that’s not here,” Claire said. “If I stay here any longer, I’ll kill him. Please come. Don says it’s okay.”

Miranda liked Don. He was a nice boy. Not like most of the others. Claire was lucky to have found someone like that.