Constantly glancing over my shoulder, I pilfered each and every knife from the drawers and dish strainer. Clutching them with shaking hands, I scanned the space for a safe hiding spot. With no cabinet doors, the options were very limited. A giant roasting pan sitting on top of the fridge seemed as good an option as any, since we rarely used it.

I placed the bundle of knives on the counter as quietly as possible and pulled the pan down. Taking off the lid, I loaded the inside with the knives, cringing when one pinged off the side. Pausing stock-still, my eyes shot toward the doorway. When it remained empty after several staggered breaths, I finished my mission by replacing the top and shoving the pan back into place. Thinking better of it, I rummaged around until deciding on a few chipped coffee cups to line in front of the pan.

Out of sight, out of mind.

What a ridiculous notion, but one I took comfort in, nonetheless.

After double-checking for any stray “bloodletting” tools, I took the stairs two at the time and locked myself in my room. I fumbled with the buttons on the dress, nearly coming unglued when the numbness and trembling in my fingers made it close to impossible to unfasten them.

Somehow I managed to change into a sweatshirt and jeans. In a blink, I found myself in the packhouse loft, staring at the maps glued to the wall like they would magically reveal the right direction I needed to take in this difficult life. When nothing but wasted time revealed I was too lost to be found, my body crumpled in a heap on the floor.

My thoughts began pinging all over the place. The odd mix of elation from my first kiss with Vance skipped around the confusing conversation with Pa. The sparkling water of the lake morphed into the sad pile of splintered flooring. The breathtaking, glittering Christmas lights Vance had shared with me, and the dull void of Pa’s gaze when he realized I wasn’t Mama. Everything I’d tried my darnedest to manage on my own suddenly intensified to the point of piercing through the barrier I’d built around myself.

Wrapping my arms around my knees, I gave in and allowed the pain to seep past my eyes, escaping down the contours of my cheeks and descending past the tip of my chin. The submission released a river of fear and uncertainty as my body rocked back and forth. It was violent and raw, like a wild animal being freed from the confines of its cage for the first time, and the only thing I could do was just sit in the violence of it until it chose to release me.

When it finally did, my shirt was drenched. I stared down at the mess, wondering if this was sort of like bloodletting. Was it possible to purge the soul of impurities through tears? Finally my eyes dried, and I knew they would remain that way for another long spell. And nothing about the deep-seated anger taking over my soul felt pure.