Chapter 21: The Order

My father slept in a motel for four nights, in the room next to my uncle's.

On the fifth day he called me.

"I need clothes," he said. "I'm scared to go in alone."

So Caleb drove us to Alder Road, and Dad let himself in with his key.

The house smelled like burned toast.

Mom stood at the top of the stairs in a robe, with her hair flat on one side.

"You," she said to Dad.

"Carol. I'm taking a suitcase."

"Take the whole closet."

He went up past her without a word.

I stood in the hall with Caleb and looked at the table by the front door.

The blue bowl sat on it, the way it always had.

Someone rang the doorbell.

Mom came down, slowly, and opened it.

A woman in a grey coat held out a thick envelope and a tablet.

"Bianca Garrity?"

"I'm her mother."

"I need to hand it to her personally, ma'am. It's a civil protective order. A petition was filed this week."

Mom's hand rose to her throat.

"Who filed it?"

"I can't tell you. I can tell you it's about harassment."

"Bianca!" Mom called, without turning.

My sister came down the stairs.

She was wearing a pale cardigan, and she was leaning on the banister, and her left ankle was wrapped in a bandage.

She did not limp on the stairs.

I watched Mom see that, too.

"Yes?" Bianca said, in her sweet voice.

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