Elowen sat across from me at the kitchen table.
My mother was in the living room leaving another voicemail for someone who clearly was not answering.
For the first time all night, Sylas was not in the house.
He had walked to a twenty-four-hour gas station down the road, apparently to “clear his head.”
I hoped his head enjoyed the walk.
Elowen stared at her hands.
“They changed the locks,” she said.
I said nothing.
“We came home from dinner and our stuff was outside.”
“Where did you get money for dinner?” I asked.
She flinched.
It sounded cruel.
Maybe it was cruel.
But there were three children sleeping in a stranger’s house, and I was done pretending details did not matter.
“It was cheap,” she said.
“That wasn’t my question.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I can’t do this tonight.”
“You never do it any night, Elowen.”
