Chương 1
"The apartment smelled like cold pepperoni and lemon dish soap when Ryan Mercer found his eight-months-pregnant wife gripping the kitchen sink hard enough to whiten her knuckles.
Nora was barefoot on a floor sticky with spilled soda, surrounded by plates that did not belong to her, while laughter rolled in from the living room.
Ryan stopped with his work bag still hanging from one shoulder.
For twelve hours he had been moving pallets beneath fluorescent warehouse lights, and during the drive home he had pictured exactly three things: a hot shower, something to eat, and Nora smiling when he put his hand against her stomach.
Instead, his mother was laughing at something on television.
Paige had both feet on Ryan's coffee table.
Tessa was scrolling through her phone with an open pizza box beside her.
Brooke was drinking the last of the orange juice straight from the carton.
Nobody seemed to notice that Nora was trembling.
Ryan dropped his bag.
"Nora?"
She turned too quickly.
The plate in her hand struck the edge of the sink and cracked.
"I'm okay," she said.
Ryan crossed the kitchen before the broken ceramic finished settling.
Nora's face was pale beneath the warm overhead light, and strands of damp hair clung to her temples.
Her T-shirt stretched over the heavy curve of her stomach, but the rest of her looked somehow smaller than she had that morning.
"You don't look okay."
"I'm just tired."
"Then why are you doing dishes?"
From the living room, Marla called, "Because somebody has to do them."
The laughter stopped.
Ryan looked past Nora.
His mother sat in the recliner he had bought secondhand when Nora became too uncomfortable to sit on their old couch.
Marla had claimed it within twenty minutes of arriving that afternoon.
At least Ryan had assumed she had arrived that afternoon.
He looked again at the mess.
There were too many cups.
Too many takeout containers.
A grocery bag from the market down the street had been crumpled beside the trash can.
Nora touched his wrist.
"Ryan, don't."
Her voice was almost inaudible.
That frightened him more than the mess did.
Nora was not timid.
She argued with parking meters.
She once returned a blender because the box said it had six settings and she could only find five.
When she was angry with Ryan, she told him before he had time to figure out what he had done.
Now she would not look toward the living room.
Ryan lowered his voice.
"When did they get here?"
Nora swallowed.
"Monday."
It was Friday.
He stared at her.
"You told me Mom stopped by yesterday."
"I know."
"Monday?"
Nora nodded.
A cabinet door stood open behind her, revealing two nearly empty shelves.
Ryan opened the refrigerator.
Half a jar of mustard, shredded cheese, three bottles of water, pickles, and a plastic container with something unrecognizable inside.
He had spent almost two hundred dollars on groceries Sunday.
"Where's the food?"
Brooke appeared in the kitchen doorway.
"We ate it."
She said it with a little shrug, as though he had asked where the ice cubes went.
Ryan looked at her.
"All of it?"
"Don't start."
"I asked a question."
"We've been here all week, Ryan."
"That's not an answer."
Marla muted the television.
"Your sisters have been going through a rough patch."
Ryan almost laughed, but nothing about Nora's face allowed it.
Paige had lost another receptionist job.
Tessa's boyfriend had thrown her out after an argument Ryan had deliberately avoided learning the details of.
Brooke had been "between places" since spring, which apparently meant rotating through friends' couches until somebody asked her to contribute rent.
Ryan had helped all three.
He had transferred money.
He had paid a phone bill.
He had covered Paige's car insurance after she promised it would be the last time.
He had done those things because his father had disappeared when Ryan was fourteen and because Marla had spent years reminding him that he was the man of the family.
At thirty-one, he was still paying interest on that sentence.
Nora leaned against the counter.
Ryan saw her knees bend.
He caught her before she hit the floor.
"Nora."
"I'm fine."
"Stop saying that."
Her fingers clutched his work shirt.
The movement pulled her sleeve upward.
Four dark marks crossed the inside of her upper arm.
Ryan stared at them.
Nora immediately tugged the sleeve down.
The room seemed to lose its sound.
"What happened to your arm?"
"Nothing."
"Nora."
Marla sighed from the living room.
"Oh, for God's sake."
Ryan looked at his mother.
Marla stood.
"She's been emotional all week."
"What happened to her arm?"
"Ask her."
"I am asking everybody."
Paige got off the couch.
"She bruises easily."
Nora's grip tightened around Ryan's shirt.
That was enough.
Ryan turned toward Paige.
"Did you touch her?"
Paige's expression changed for less than a second.
Not guilt exactly.
Calculation.
"I grabbed her arm."
Ryan felt something cold settle behind his ribs.
"Why?"
"Because she was acting crazy."
Nora made a small sound.
Ryan looked down.
Her eyes were wet.
"What happened?"
"Not now."
"Yes, now."
"Ryan, please."
He had heard Nora ask for plenty of things during their marriage.
More pillows.
Less garlic.
Help assembling a crib whose instructions appeared to have been translated through four languages.
He had never heard her ask him not to defend her.
That meant she was not protecting herself.
She was protecting him from whatever came next.
Ryan crouched slightly so they were eye level.
"Have you eaten?"
Nora blinked.
"What?"
"Today."
She looked toward the refrigerator.
Ryan followed her eyes.
"Nora."
"I had toast."
"When?"
"This morning."
It was almost nine at night.
Ryan's jaw tightened.
Marla walked into the kitchen.
"There was pizza."
"I can't eat that much grease anymore," Nora said.
"Then she could've made something."
"With what?" Ryan asked.
Marla folded her arms.
"Don't use that tone with me."
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"What tone should I use?"
"The one you use when you remember who raised you."
