He hasn’t answered either of them. She rolls onto her back, wide awake, her mouth dry, her pulse quickened, and thinks back at zero, and in her mind she sees the speedometer, its needle lowered all the way to the left. Slow enough to stop.

TWELVE: SHANNON

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 12

Baby Jane was gone. After I slept on his bed, my head leaning against his bony shoulder, he had disappeared. I didn’t see him at the car, and he didn’t appear to be home. There were pull shades in the house, all of them tightly drawn. I tried to peek in the back door, into the dark kitchen, but I couldn’t see anything at all, and none of the lights were on.

I thought, he could be dead in there.

Could he die that quickly?

I leaned my head against the glass. It felt empty. That was the worst part.

I had to keep working. I couldn’t afford not to. I tried calculating in my head how long it would take me to make $1,300 to pay just the electricity and heat, and felt sick. It was too long. The refrigerator was festering. The toilet had been flushed with a bucket of water, and we had to go out to the public restroom most of the time. I hadn’t showered since Bear’s. No one else had washed at all.

If anyone found out, they would take Birdie. If they auctioned the house from underneath us, they would take Birdie.

Part of me struggled to believe it might be the best thing for her. But it wasn’t what I wanted.

They would send my mother to rehab, or to jail, for keeping Birdie captive. They could send me to jail. I wouldn’t know how to fight it. My mother, however, had a talent for appearing completely normal in the face of authority. And if neither of us went to jail, we’d be stuck with each other, without a house. And without Bird.

The hill on Fountain Street was so steep I had to get off and walk my bike. I’d tried for the truck, but I didn’t feel like fighting. I just wanted to get out. The first thing my mother said was, “What if I need it?” It wasn’t an argument worth having. By the time I got to the top of Fountain, my back was sweaty but my face was chapped and cold, my hands dry and red. The house came into view like a giant looming hotel.

I felt like a bomb that was about to go off. I leaned over on the bike in the driveway, the Land Rover parked in the middle spot again, the field out back just a black sea of cattails and brush. I blew out to catch my breath. Second shift, I thought. I hoped there was enough to do to warrant more pay. I kept the money in my pocket. It was the safest place.

Inside, Buddy bounded on me in the hallway. Licked my face, pushed his paws into my arms, jumped on his back feet. Bear nodded his head toward the shower. “Before you get started,” he said.