My mom rubs my back before she and my dad disappear into the other room with new glasses of wine. I wonder if this means I’m too old for head pats now.

Ivy and I set up the game while we listen to music coming from the living room. I turn down the Rolling Stones so I can hear. It’s Elvis, singing about falling in love, and I know my parents are dancing in there. Holding each other close.

“Let’s roll at the same time to see who goes first,” Ivy says.

I get a six, and she gets a three. She frowns and pushes the dice at me in a way-too-babyish gesture. “It’s because you turned down my music,” she says.

“Don’t be a baby,” I tell her.

This time, I don’t let her win.

Before I follow Ivy into the living room to say good night to my parents, I find my paycheck from Mr. Townsend and sign the back. Then I rip a sheet of paper off the shopping-list pad we keep on the fridge and fold it over the check and draw a heart on it. For groceries, I write under the heart. I leave it on top of my mom’s purse and turn off the light.

Chapter Seventeen

Everyone seems happy to see me when I go back to work on Monday morning — except for the chickens. Poor little Bashful is on the outskirts as usual, so I make sure to toss her some extra feed while the others are busy.

I save Lucy for last. She lifts her head and blinks when she sees me. My heart hurts, thinking about her future.

“I was supposed to love the hell out of you,” I say. “But I can’t even save you.”

She eyes me suspiciously.

“I have your breakfast,” I tell her. “Are you going to let me set it out for you, or are you going to do your body-slam nonsense?”

She rolls her body a little, rocking back and forth until she gets on her feet, then takes a few steps toward me.

“Hi,” I say. “How are you feeling?”

She shifts her weight from one hoof to the other.

I climb up on the railing.

Lucy takes another step.

I lift her feed bucket slowly up over the top rail.

“Stay,” I tell her, as if she’s a dog. “Wait.”

She sniffs. Her pink snout is wet and has bits of sawdust on it. She blinks her long pink eyelashes at me.

“Stay,” I say again, slowly lowering the pail down on her side of the pen.

She begins to trot toward me, picking up speed.

I slip the handle of the bucket onto its hook and jump off the fence before Lucy reaches me.

“Stay!” I yell again. She stops in her tracks and lifts her head to sniff again.