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Back When the Stars Go Dark
Chapters (83)
  1. Epigraph
  2. Maps
  3. (prologue)
  4. Part 1: Signs and Vapors
  5. (one)
  6. (two)
  7. (three)
  8. (four)
  9. (five)
  10. (six)
  11. (seven)
  12. (eight)
  13. (nine)
  14. (ten)
  15. (eleven)
  16. (twelve)
  17. Part 2: Secret Things
  18. (thirteen)
  19. (fourteen)
  20. (fifteen)
  21. (sixteen)
  22. (seventeen)
  23. (eighteen)
  24. (nineteen)
  25. (twenty)
  26. (twenty-one)
  27. (twenty-two)
  28. (twenty-three)
  29. (twenty-four)
  30. (twenty-five)
  31. (twenty-six)
  32. (twenty-seven)
  33. (twenty-eight)
  34. (twenty-nine)
  35. (thirty)
  36. (thirty-one)
  37. (thirty-two)
  38. (thirty-three)
  39. (thirty-four)
  40. (thirty-five)
  41. (thirty-six)
  42. (thirty-seven)
  43. (thirty-eight)
  44. (thirty-nine)
  45. Part 3: Time and the Maiden
  46. (forty)
  47. (forty-one)
  48. (forty-two)
  49. (forty-three)
  50. (forty-four)
  51. (forty-five)
  52. (forty-six)
  53. (forty-seven)
  54. (forty-eight)
  55. (forty-nine)
  56. (fifty)
  57. (fifty-one)
  58. (fifty-two)
  59. (fifty-three)
  60. Part 4: The Bent Grove
  61. (fifty-four)
  62. (fifty-five)
  63. (fifty-six)
  64. (fifty-seven)
  65. (fifty-eight)
  66. (fifty-nine)
  67. (sixty)
  68. (sixty-one)
  69. (sixty-two)
  70. (sixty-three)
  71. (sixty-four)
  72. (sixty-five)
  73. (sixty-six)
  74. (sixty-seven)
  75. (sixty-eight)
  76. (sixty-nine)
  77. (seventy)
  78. Dedication
  79. (acknowledgments)
  80. (author’s note)
  81. BY PAULA MCLAIN
  82. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  83. What’s next onyour reading list?

The word has an inflection that snags and rebounds. Useless. Idiot. Again I have the feeling that I’m looking into a mirror—a dark one. “You were the same age, but you were always the stronger one,” I say. “She could get sad sometimes, but you made her feel better. You cooked for her. You tucked her in at night. I’ll bet you read her stories, too.”

Suddenly he frowns. Charged ripples of emotion cling to him as he stands up. “Stop trying to get into my head.”

“I just want to understand, like you said. I feel like I’ve let you down, Caleb. I think a lot of people have.”

He shifts forward and back, as if to test his balance. “Yeah,” he mutters, almost to himself. “She shouldn’t have tried to leave me.”

The sentence lands with a jolt between my shoulder blades. He’s not talking about his mother now. It’s Jenny who let him down. Jenny who betrayed him. How could I have missed that before?

“Not everyone is strong, Caleb,” I echo slowly, inching forward in my crouch. I’ve been kneeling this whole time in front of the fireplace, cutting off my circulation. My feet tingle as the blood reaches them. I risk a glance at the bedroom door, then at Cricket on the floor next to the couch, resting but aware, if I read her right, and finally back to Caleb. “She couldn’t take it anymore, just like your mom.”

“I would have gone with her.” It’s almost a moan. The boy in him is very much here with us, still hurting. That’s where the rage lives. Right at the center of that wound. “But she didn’t want to take me. She wouldn’t listen.”

“You had to stop her,” I say. “That’s how it happened.” With him I’m calculated, trying not to set down a single wrong syllable, while internally I’m lunging through a pitch-black room for any familiar shape, as in a child’s game. Blindman’s bluff. “You argued. There was a struggle. You didn’t know how strong you were.”

His chin has tipped down, his eyes on some point in front of him, as if he’s trying to blot all this out and focus on that instead, the bigger drama, the story of his life. They must have argued on her last day at home. She packed a bag, tried to go, but he stopped her and accidentally what? Broke her neck?