Chapter Fifty-Four

I CLOSE THE DOOR AND LEAN against it for a minute, unwilling at first to move farther into the house. Everything is quiet except for the buzz of the television.

When I finally reach the living room, Campbell and Juniper are curled up on the chair, and my parents are on the couch. Mom is leaning into his side, and his arms are wrapped around her. The embrace is so normal, so gentle, but the sight makes my chest constrict.

“Leighton, how was your meeting?” she asks, patting the open space on the other side of her. I move into the room and sit down.

“Movie night?” I ask.

“We had to cancel the cable, so we’re picking from our favorites that we own,” Dad says, and the sentence is laced with guilt. He’s always sorry for the wrong thing.

“Good choice,” I say. “Anyone want some popcorn?”

Campbell and Juniper nod eagerly, and I head for the kitchen. I know they asked for an effort, and I want to try. It’s just hard.

Dad follows me into the kitchen.

“Here,” he says. “The popcorn machine is out of your reach.”

He gets it for me out of the cabinet over the refrigerator, carefully moving his wallet and keys and gun to the counter as he does so.

“One more game,” he says out of nowhere. It takes me a minute to raise my eyes from the counter. From the gun.

“Hmm?” I ask.

“Liam must be excited. One more win and the Wolves go to states.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess he’s happy.”

“Ah, yeah. I could barely sleep leading up to those last few games. The whole town was, well, you know. You see it now.”

I know the right response here: “I hope we win,” or maybe “It’s really exciting.” Even a simple “go Wolves” would suffice. But I look at him in the soft kitchen light, and I want to try harder.

“That must have been a lot of pressure.”

He looks up from the popcorn machine. “Yeah, it really was. And people around here don’t forget.”

“No, I guess not,” I say, handing him the container of kernels. “Do you want to go?”

“To the game?”

I nod.

“Yeah, why not? We can cheer on your boyfriend, show some town spirit.”

Auburn proud.

“Okay. It’s Friday.”

“Sounds good, Leighton.”

“How was work?” It might be the wrong thing to say, again, but if he wants us to try, then he has to try, too. He has to let us ask normal questions and not tiptoe around his temper.

“A mess,” he says, his laugh a humorless bark. “Lost out on a job outside of Philly. Got underbid. Again.”

He doesn’t sound angry, though; just sad, disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Thanks,” he says, and his hand falls to my shoulder for a moment. Sometimes I really wish he were just mean through and through. Evil is easy to hate, but broken . . . broken can love and be loved.

The kitchen is noisy with the popcorn now, and I feel like the air has been sucked out of the room.

“I’m gonna go work on my column for a bit; I’ll be back down.”

“Okay. Study hard.”

As soon as I step into my room, something cracks against the window. It’s Joe on my windowsill.

This time I don’t open the window slowly, waiting for him to leave. I throw it open to the cold December air. He still doesn’t fly away, just shuffles his feet in irritation. I reach for my backpack and pull out the few packets of crackers I stashed for him. I squeeze the packet until the crackers break and the bag bursts. A little cloud of salt dust is released, and I can taste it in the air.

Joe waits patiently for my offering, and when I sprinkle the crackers onto the outer sill, he bows his head and drops something. It lands softly on my carpet, and glimmers in the moonlight.

A rusted little key. I drop it onto my nightstand, next to the screw and matchbook he left me at Liam’s house. I keep forgetting to give them to Juniper, but then again, her own collection has grown so much. Nearly a dozen marbles, twice as many feathers. Buttons and coins.

When I return to the window, Joe is gone, and I close it against the cold.

My window faces our front yard: the street, the truck, the tree. But it’s dark outside and bright in here, so all I see is my own reflection. Window Leighton looks kind of tired, dark circles under her eyes. I can’t see them right now, but I can feel the crows on the other side of the glass.

They are not polite guests who clear their dishes from the sink or remake their beds every morning. They aren’t visitors.

They are Vikings.

They’ve conquered this town. They now flood the sky in droves, darken Auburn like there’s a storm rolling in. They caw day and night, until the noise is part of us. Until we can’t remember what it’s like to not hear them.

And yet.

I like them.

I like the crows because they can’t be shut behind a door, or hidden behind blinds. People can’t turn away and shake their heads and say, “It isn’t our problem.”

I like the crows because they refuse to be ignored.