With one motion, she twisted around, grabbed the telephone by the bed, and hit him with it on the bridge of his nose. She sprang off the bed for the door. Her hand was on the doorknob, but in another second, she was on the floor again. His knee was against her throat. His whole weight was on her chest.

“Bloody my fucking nose, you piece of shit.”

She tried to push him off, but it was like being under a building. He was just too heavy. A blow to her face, and she was choking on blood.

“You piece of white trash.” He hit her again. She heard popping, cracking noises in her head.

“I was taking you places.” He hit her again. Sharp objects cut the inside of her mouth. Her teeth.

“I was going to make you something.”

She started to cry. When he wrapped the panty hose around her neck, she didn’t resist.

Another night of horrible sleep. Toward dawn, I get up.

I put on my bathrobe, go downstairs, and make a pot of coffee. I go outside and wait for the sun to come up, but it doesn’t. It just gets paler and paler gray.

The framers of the new house come at seven. The crew offers me a donut, and I sit on the tailgate of one of their pickups. They take out chop saws and nail guns and air compressors, and set up sawhorses. They spread orange extension cords around the foundation, scratch the stubble on their cheeks, look up at the sky, and discuss when is it going to open up and pour, and whether it’s worth it to even start. At seven, Scot stumbles out of our house, tying on his nail apron. I have to get ready for school, so I go inside.

My uncle Hugh calls Sunday morning as everyone’s leaving for church. Allegra probably told him what happened and ordered him to talk to me. He called from his car.

“Everybody’s worried because I’m not crying,” I shout at him. “I feel kind of pressured by it.”

“Life will always provide opportunities to cry,” he shouts back. “You can count on it for that.”

“Hey, Hugh?” I holler. “Are we rich?”

“You need money?” he shouts.

“No. I mean, is there any, like, family money? I’m just curious.”

“I see. There was, but … Well, the fact is, your father gave it all away.”

“He did?” I shout. “Away to who?”

“To the people who he felt had earned it. It took him some work, a little time, but those were his beliefs, so that’s what he did.” Hugh and I are silent for a while. “So it’s all gone,” he says finally.

“All of it?”

“Every dime.”

“Wasn’t anyone mad when he did it?”