School started again, bringing a keener torture; even so, I was glad to go. The war at home was now a screaming circus, and there was nothing we children could do. Grandma would rattle doorknobs or tape up notes in the kitchen, Mother at her heels shouting, even following her outside in her nightgown. Once, we all threw fried onions against the kitchen wall. I knew that was dumb, but Mother was laughing and I was afraid not to have fun.

            I learned what the real trouble was about. It wasn’t just college. Grandma Lizzie had done something to my mom’s dad, and had said something bad about mine. As before, I slunk around, eavesdropping as much as I could, though what I heard pierced me to the core. And again, the boys stayed outdoors, this time in a bigger tent Mother had ordered from an Army Surplus store, with a frame taller than they were. At night, the phone rang and rang. 

            A few weeks into school, I lost the friends I had. I got nudged out of line by Jane Lee Veach waiting my turn for four-square. I tried once more and got kicked by Vera, and never tried again. There’d be times when Jane Lee would let me in, but she wasn’t being a friend. She asked me adult questions that made my cheeks turn red. Mrs. Hutchinson, a teacher who’d had my mom in class when she was my age, would hug me in the halls or smooth my hair. The boys were in first grade, and but for some trouble with Rush bringing marbles and spilling them everywhere, they seemed okay. My mother was a shadow, but people had stopped caring.

            I hated school and I didn’t want to leave. School meant teachers and patrols; home held no boundaries. Even when there was silence, violence hung in the air. There would be no healing, but I didn’t know that. This will pass, I used to think. Make this pass, I’d pray, and for a time I thought my prayers were answered when Mother got quiet again and stopped shouting. She seemed lost, wanting to reach out, but Grandma wouldn’t have it. If Mom came near, Grandma’s cheeks would turn red and she’d get busy in the kitchen, banging pots and pans to drown the words out. Mom was mostly in her bedroom with the door locked or, when she did come out, wandering from room to room in that same stained gown.

            She did come out at Easter and seemed almost like her old self. She drove us to Clovington. It took forever because she hadn’t driven in a while, and her hands kept slipping on the wheel. But we made it and got a bunch of stuff. So much candy that Grandma said we’d puke it up. We hunted eggs out in the back yard and something Jarrell said made Mother laugh, but when Grandma came over with dinner, she sank back into her shadow self.

            Grandma was up to something. I could tell by the way she bustled about. I asked her what it was, but she said her lips were sealed. I’d have asked Mrs. Sanders but she was gone. She’d broken her hip and her son had driven in from one of the Carolinas and put her in a nursing home.