“Lately? How about always?” Sam’s hands swung up to pound the air. He strode across the dining area and stood in the workshop doorway. Past him, deeper in the room, Maggie could make out the dark outline of his sculpture. With his back to the others, he muttered, “She’s the only one allowed to hurt in this family. The winner of the suckiest childhood. I am so fucking tired of hearing about Linnie’s horrible past, Linnie’s awful suffering, Linnie’s night terrors, drinking problem, drug problem, cutting problem, and goddamn depression. I lost my mother. But do I get to wallow? Fuck no. Linnie’s sad situation is the only situation.” He whirled around to skewer her with some narrow-eyed rage. “You’re so selfish—so wrapped up in your own problems. Do you ever think about what I went through?”

Linnie moaned softly. Her face was wet with tears. She gave her cheeks an absent swipe. “I was there. I know what you went through because I was dragged through it and made to pay for it.” She ran her hands down her coat and began buttoning it up. “If it hadn’t been for your mom’s passing, I wouldn’t have stuck around here at all. I wouldn’t have dropped out of high school. I wouldn’t have given up my dream to get the hell out of this shit-town and do something interesting with my life. I wouldn’t have seen my fucking future go down the drain. I gave up everything, everything—even the privilege to do what I felt was best with my own body—because you wanted me to. You know what I think, Sam? I think you deliberately trapped me.”

There was a piercing silence.

Then the smoke alarm blared.

22

THOMAS HOLLERED. WREN screamed. Everyone made for the stove. Maggie reached it first and twisted off the burners. It was too late to save the food. Waving at the black cloud, she squinted at the pans they’d forgotten.

Sam’s hands fell on his head. “Shit.”

The ingredients smoldered in a blackened mess. Maggie flicked on the fan in the hood, Linnie opened the window over the sink, and Thomas climbed a stool to shut off the alarm.

Wren, sidling over to the sink and putting her arm around Linnie, eyed Sam’s father askance. “Careful up there, old man.”

He gave her a look but took the hand Sam raised to help balance him on his way down.

Sam blew an explosive sigh, then turned to Linnie, his expression sad and abashed. “I’m sorry.”

“I am, too,” Linnie said, her voice trembling.

Sam rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I never meant—”

“Yeah, you did,” Linnie choked out, through a strange laughed cry, “and so did I. What I said, though, it wasn’t the whole story. Sometimes I hated you, but sometimes … I didn’t. And don’t.”