He gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Another few minutes, and everything’s going to be back to normal around here.”

I nod. Sure, it is. Until I find a cure.

Chapter Twenty-two

TWENTY-TWO

Dinner, despite my best efforts at my mother’s sauce, is a disaster.

Sonia isn’t here, but in her room. I stayed with her for an hour after Thomas of the dark suit and dark attitude came and removed the counters. He did have a time with Sonia’s because she wouldn’t stop wriggling away. She even bit his hand on the second try. No blood, but Thomas yelped like a surprised puppy and cursed under his breath on the way to his car.

“It’s all right, baby. You can talk now,” I said, soothing her when we were alone in her room.

She said one word: “No.”

“You don’t have to go to school anymore,” I said. “We’ll have our own classes here at home. We’ll read stories. And when I’m at work, you can watch cartoons over at Mrs. King’s house.” I hated the idea of Sonia spending even a minute in the company of Evan and Olivia King, but I hated it less than sending her back to PGS.

Everything lately seems to be a choice between degrees of hate.

At the mention of school, she started bawling again.

“You don’t really like it there, do you?” I said.

She nodded.

“Use your words, Sonia.”

She sat up and pressed her lips together. At first, I thought she was playing the tough girl—as tough as a six-year-old can be when she’s swathed in pink sheets and surrounded by stuffed bunnies and unicorns. She was only getting ready.

“I was going to win tomorrow!” she said, and her mouth clamped shut again. I could almost hear the click of a steel key turning in its lock while she looked longingly at her naked wrist.

Finally, Leo poked his head in the doorway. “Sauce is bubbling, Mom. A lot.”

“How about turning off the gas?” I said, wondering how I was going to work, teach Sonia, and deal with a household of incompetent males over the next several months. Then, turning back to Sonia, I said, “We’ll work on a different kind of prize tomorrow, okay? Let’s go eat.”

She only shook her head and grabbed hold of Floppy the Bunny.

At the table, it’s Steven who puts words to my worries. “How’re you going to teach Sonia and work and take care of the house, Mom?” he says around a mouthful of pasta. “We still don’t have any milk.”

In my mind, I take hold of him by the collar and shake him until he’s dizzy. In reality, I say, “You could ride your bike over to Rodman’s and buy it yourself. Or you could walk to the 7-Eleven.”

“Not my job, Mom.”