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The older I got, the more I found myself wishing for something permanent, a house with heavy bones, a place where I could sink my roots into the ground and become an immovable object.
Some mysteries don’t need to be solved, only coped with.
There are some things you just don’t talk about. It’s not that people don’t ask, but rather that they don’t want to know, not if they want to keep seeing you as a sane, rational human being. The things that went on in this house—the blood, the screaming, the pranksters, that tall man with his wooden limbs and needle fingers—nobody wanted to hear about them, let alone go on talking to you afterwards. No, best to keep quiet, to handle these things internally.
“We all deserve more than what we are given,� Fredricka said. “So much more.� Judging by the state of her skull, I’d say she was right.
Nothing is ever over. We get only a respite. But respites aren’t nothing, and I was getting one right now—however brief—as Katherine darted out of the house. The tires of her car squealed as she pulled out of the driveway. Small favors all around.
