“‘Now the little boy, who had been keeping very quiet, had another good idea. He said, “Why couldn’t we leave Mary Anne in the cellar and build the new town hall above her?”’” Darek pulled off his boots and hung his jacket on the hook. A half-eaten tuna casserole congealed, cold and sticky, in the middle of the kitchen table, next to an empty plate and a glass of milk. He should have called. But the chain broke on the splitter and he’d spent half the evening welding it together. It would have been better to take it to Wade’s machine shop, but he didn’t have extra cash for repairs. He walked down the hall to where light streamed from Tiger’s bedroom. Ivy sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard, a book open on her lap. Tiger curled up next to her, holding a LEGO truck, driving it up and down his leg as she read. Darek crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, soaking in the scene. The quiet power she had to heal him could leave him weak. Sometimes I wish I never had a family.
