Page 51 of Wall

John unfolds the blanket and holds it up. His wingspan is so wide he can hold it taut.

“Ma made each of us one exactly like it. But a different animal. Mine’s lost. I had a green rabbit. Kellum had a chick. Can’t remember what Cashel and Jesse had, but one of ‘em had a turtle. Dina had a duck.”

He sniffs the blanket for a second, folds it neatly, and returns it to the tub. It’s then I notice the ink on his chest. He has lots of tattoos—the skull and hammer, the flaming bike, the ax and hatchet and American flag—but this is new. Right over his heart. A design that’s mostly rose and partly thorns, and hidden in the swirls, a peanut, a blue jellybean, and a lemon.

I close the space between us and trace the outline of the rose. John stands completely still.

He wanted a family so badly. So did I. He always talked about how he wanted to see a bunch of kids nipping at my heels like baby ducklings.

Oh, lord. He was hurting so bad back then. Iknew. But it felt like another failure. I shoved it away. I shoved him away. I couldn’t save him when I was drowning.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble into his broad, bare chest. I pray he doesn’t ask me what for. Too many things.

He raises my hand and brushes my knuckles with a kiss. “You know what would help me get back to sleep?”

“What?”

“Chocolate cake.”

It’s a lifeline, and I’ll take it. I let him shelve the tub and lead me to the kitchen. I pour him a big glass of milk and cut him a thick piece of cake.

We don’t go back to sleep. We whisper about all sorts of nonsense until the sun comes up, snuggled on the sofa, as if nothing changed, when everything is different.

CHAPTER 8

WALL

It’s almost six o’clock in the evening when I pull into the cul-de-sac to Mona’s house.Ourhouse.

I took the long way home. Instead of Route 12, I rode along the river, crossing at the old truss bridge on Saltpeter Road. It’s bitter cold, and despite the gloves, my hands are frozen solid.

I needed the ride to get my head straight. I told Mona I’d be back after work, but I don’t know what I’m walkin’ into, and truth be told, I’m raw.

It ain’t like Mona and I talked everything out. Last night, she told me all about nursing and her plans, and I told her about working construction, and then for some reason I told her about the coyote, and that started us both off on stories about animals, which led us to dogs we’d known, and then we’d drifted off.

She could meet me at the door and tell me it was a mistake.

She could not open the door at all.

I had nerves of steel yesterday at dinner. Now? When I got everything at stake? Not so much.

I back my bike into the driveway, grateful it’s not calling for more snow. I don’t like to leave my bike out in this weather, but it’ll be fine for a few hours.

Hopefully, I’ll get a few hours. I don’t know what I’m gonna do if she asks me to take her to the pharmacy. Or if I see she’s already been.

I take off my helmet, crack my neck, and stretch my back. I’m draggin’ my feet.

The front door opens. My breath catches in my chest.

Mona pushes open the storm door, but she doesn’t step out. She’s showered. She took the time to dry her hair in those waves she likes, and she’s wearing a flannel shirt and yoga pants that hug her curves just so. My mouth waters.

She stares at me, her mouth turned down at the corners.

I stay where I am.

“You came back.” She worries at her bottom lip.

“Yeah. I said I would.” I suddenly remember the ring and dig it out of my pocket. I never did give it to her last night. “Got it.” I hold it up. Her face falls.

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