Saving Rain

by Kelsey Kingsley

You are cared for, Soldier, and as long as I'm around, you will never ever be alone in this world. You will always have somewhere to go. Remember that. Harry

Wayward Correctional Facility was two hours away from where I’d grown up on the south shore of Connecticut, and I spent the ride checking out my new phone while the cab driver made invasive small talk. “You were a prisoner, huh?” he asked. “Yeah,” I replied, turning the phone on and marveling at the smooth, bright screen. “How long were you locked up?” “Uh … nine years and some months.” “Wow, man. What’d you do?” His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror to meet mine. “Killed my best friend,” I muttered while pressing my pointer finger to the icon that looked like a phone. It took me to a list of Favorites, and the only name on that list was Harry. The cab driver grumbled a shaken, “Shit,” as I fumbled my way through sending a text to my only living friend. I just got myself out of two awkward hours of small talk, I typed with a triumphant smirk as the driver turned the radio up. Thanks for the phone, by the way. I know you don’t want me to say you shouldn’t have, but, man, you shouldn’t have. And I told you not to worry about it, Harry replied almost immediately. Hope you didn’t scare the driver too much. Tell me when you make it home. I smiled at his message, feeling for the first time since I had been a child what it was like to check in with someone. Man, it felt nice.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” she shrieked. I dropped my bag on the kitchen floor. “I don’t have anywhere else—” “Hey, Soldier.” After almost ten years of being away, there were voices I was sure I wouldn’t recognize if I heard them again. I knew I wouldn’t be able to pick out my old boss from the grocery store out of a lineup, and if you asked me to recognize my first-grade teacher by voice alone, I wouldn’t be able to. But there were some voices I’d always remember, and when I dropped my hand, not caring about my mother’s nudity anymore, I was faced with the wicked grin time wouldn’t let me forget. “Levi.” Levi Stratton stood in my mother’s living room, zipping his pants up. He was missing his shirt and shoes, and given the casual way he moved around, it didn’t take a genius to figure out he was comfortable here. I wanted to throw up. He walked over, every shitty tattoo on full display, and looked me over. “God, how long has it been? Oh”—he tapped his temple—“that’s right. Just short of ten years, isn’t it?” Mom had turned her back to me and hurried to pull a shirt on as I managed to ask without wincing, “You’re fucking my mom?” He grinned and offered a nonchalant shrug while Mom hurried, barefoot, to thrust her hands against my ungiving chest. “I told you not to come back!” she shouted, frantic. “And where would you like me to go, Diane?” I asked, turning my narrowed glare from Levi to look at her. The woman who hadn’t changed her mind the way Harry had said she ...

I reentered the living room. I ignored Levi and stared my mother down, who was now, once again, sitting on the couch. That was the only thing that had changed about this place. The fucking couch. I guessed she only gave a shit about the things she needed the most—drugs and a place to crash after the high. “You’re never seeing me again,” I warned her, keeping my voice even. Unmoved as my heart ached incredibly. “The second I walk through that door, I am gone, and you will never see me again for the rest of your miserable fucking life. Do you understand that?” She said nothing. “You won’t know where I go. You won’t have any way to contact me. This is it. Tell me you understand that, tell me you’re good with it, and I’m gone forever.” That was when she looked right into my hardened glare, her pupils missing from her eyes, and she said, “I should’ve aborted you.” Levi laughed, grinning like she’d just told the funniest joke he had ever heard. “Man, our lives would’ve been easier. Think of everyone who’d still be alive. Imagine that.” I could kill him. I wanted to, and you know what? Maybe I should. I could be thrown back into Wayward. I would have a place to live, eat, sleep … But it was what he wanted. He wanted the reaction, and I wasn’t going to give it to him. Because he might’ve chosen this piece-of-shit life for himself, but I was going to be better. I was better. So, without another word, without looking back, I walked through the door and slammed it behind me.

“Harry?” My voice cracked on his name, but I didn’t think Harry had noticed because he said, “Hey! I didn’t expect you to call me so soon. How’s it going?” I wiped the snot pooling beneath my nose with the back of my frozen hand and said, “She didn’t change her tune.” “What? Soldier—” “Sh-she didn’t want me there, so I left.” “Ah, man …” He sighed, sounding so far away now. Farther than I needed him to be. “I’m sorry, son.” I sat on the side of the road, staring across at a patch of dirt. My ass was freezing, I couldn’t feel my fingers, and my teeth were chattering against the cold. But I couldn’t stop staring. I hadn’t stopped since leaving my mom’s apartment over an hour ago. “Where are you?” Harry asked. “I let him die for her,” I said as another round of tears began to soak my wind-stung face. “He’d still be alive if I hadn’t been so fucking busy saving her goddamn life.” “Soldier, tell me where you are. I’m coming, okay? Just tell me where to go, and I’ll be there.” So, I did, and he came. It had taken an hour for him to drive to me, but he had. It was more than I’d expected when I called. I could’ve walked down to the motel outside of town and gotten a room with the little bit of money in my pocket. But I had called Harry to have someone to talk to, and instead, he’d given me warmth.

he sat beside me on the side of the road and stared across at the last place I’d been in this shitty town before spending a third of my life behind bars. “He died right there,” I said, pointing toward the patch of dirt that looked so much the same. Not like everything else around here. Hell, even the woods had been plowed down. The Pit was gone, thank God. Where do the kids pop their pills these days? How is Levi doing business? I cringed at the thought, and then I cringed at the idea that he, a guy only a handful of years older than me, was fucking my mom. And why? Harry nodded solemnly. “It’s an unfortunate thing that happened,” he said, his breath creating puffs of silvery clouds against the black sky. “They were her pills.” It was a truth I hadn’t uttered to a single soul outside of my letters to a girl named Rain. And now, Harry knew too. “I had been swiping them from her for years to make some money to pay our bills and so she’d have fewer pills to take.” I laughed at that now, shaking my head and rolling my eyes. “I was such a fucking idiot for not realizing she’d just buy more. I just … I thought I was doing a good thing, you know? Like, the lesser of two evils or some stupid shit.” Harry had turned to look at me, his mouth frozen with parted lips. “We needed the money for rent and electric, and I was going to pull from my savings to pay it off. But she had stolen it all. Nine thousand dollars gone”—I snapped my aching fingers—“just like that. God, I hadn’t known s...

staring at the patch of dirt across the road. I imagined that Billy’s ghost was there, forever tethered to the last place he’d been alive. I imagined he could see me, angry and hateful and so fucking pissed. I wondered what he’d say to me now, knowing he’d never uttered anything worth saying while he was alive, and I shook my head. “Billy Porter was such a fucking asshole,” I muttered, dropping my chin to my chest. “He was an idiot and a loser, and if I’m being real with myself, he probably would’ve been dead by now anyway. I just wish I hadn’t been the one who killed him. That’s all. I wish that weren’t a part of my shitty story.” With another sigh, Harry wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled my body against his. Then, he said, “Soldier, do you know how many other people would’ve died had Billy not taken that pill?” I swallowed and blinked away the tears. “I never thought about that.” “Your heart is so good, and your intentions were as well—as twisted as they might’ve been. But if you had taken those bottles and sold even just ten pills to ten kids, that would’ve been the blood of ten people on your hands. And while it still wouldn’t have been your fault they were laced, you would still be in prison, maybe even for the rest of your life. And there is more to your story than that, Soldier. I promise you. There is a reason Billy took that pill before you had the chance to sell any—he saved you.” Holy shit. I had never thought of it like that before. I had never look...

Harry’s house was small but welcoming in the way every house should be. I felt all the love contained within those walls the moment I stepped through the door that night, and it never stopped, even after Harry announced to his wife, Sarah, that I’d be staying for the foreseeable future. Initially, I could tell she wasn’t sold on the idea of letting an ex-con sleep under her roof. Her stony gaze and tight grip on her husband’s arm had given her understandable nerves and fear away. But Harry explained my predicament to her, and when he finally introduced me by name, the fear and anxiety vanished as her face lit up with instant recognition, and she asked, “This is Soldier?” Harry had been talking about me for years, apparently, and I guessed he’d put in a good word because it was then that she rushed off to make up the guest room and told me I could stay as long as I needed to. So, that was what I did. I stayed there for a week, feeling like I’d tripped and fallen into the lap of hospitable luxury, and then, just like that, it was Christmas.

Christmas with Gramma and Grampa had always been nice—whether Diane decided to show up or not. There were always presents, and Gramma always made a nice dinner. But the thing about Christmas with Gramma and Grampa was, it was always just us. Which was still fine and forever appreciated, especially because after they were gone, I didn’t have Christmas at all really. But it had been small, quiet, and low-key, much like everything else during my life with my grandparents. So, anytime one of the kids in school had mentioned how crazy their holiday had been, I’d fantasize about what that might’ve been like while never really knowing what to imagine. I’d seen big family get-togethers on TV plenty of times, but was that really what it was like? Or was it exaggerated for the sake of entertainment? I had never really known—that was, until I spent Christmas with Harry’s family. Harry was one of four kids, and each of them was married with children, and several of those children had children of their own. Now, somehow, they’d planned to squeeze all forty-six of those people into their little house, and although I couldn’t begin to fathom what kind of miracle they needed to pull off to make that happen, I also couldn’t wait as I helped Sarah cook dinner just hours before the guests were supposed to arrive. “It’s definitely handy, having you around,” she commented as I easily reached a baking dish from the top shelf of a cabinet. “Hey, it’s the least I can do.” I then brought down the ...

I left the room and heard the voices of people I didn’t know coming from the kitchen. “Daddy, you let a criminal stay in your house?” “Mom, how could you let him do that?!” The first voice scoffed. “Oh my God, what if he kills you in your sleep and takes everything you own?” The second said, “Wait. Has he killed anybody? Why was he in prison in the first place?” Harry sighed. “Okay, first of all, he’s not going to kill anybody. He was in prison for manslaughter and—” “So, wait. He has killed someone,” the second voice interrupted. “Oh my God, Pamela. Daddy invited a murderer to Christmas. Isn’t that awesome?” I pulled in a deep breath and decided it was time to stop eavesdropping and get the introductions with Harry’s daughters over with and out of the way. I couldn’t force anyone to feel comfortable in my presence, but the least I could do was be polite and hopefully prove to them I wasn’t a threat. So, I cleared my throat and entered the kitchen to find two blonde women. They looked nearly identical to their mother, and they turned at the sound of my footsteps. “Girls, I’d like you to meet Soldier. Soldier, these are my daughters—” “Wait,” one of the two cut in, holding her hands out. “Soldier. I knew a kid named Soldier. He was one of my students, and he …” Her voice trailed off as something dawned on her, and she laid a palm over her chest. “Oh my God, are you Soldier Mason?” “Um …” I swallowed as it dawned on me that she had heard of my case. “Yeah, I—” “Soldier, oh m...

Harry’s brother Howard owned a grocery store—The Fisch Market, it was called—in a town nearby, River Canyon, and on Christmas Day, Harry asked him if there were any positions to be filled. “Actually,” Howard said, eyeing me with a hint of scrutiny, “our janitor just left us, and I’ve been having to do all the cleaning myself. If you don’t mind pushing a broom, mopping the floor, and scrubbing bathrooms, you’ve got yourself a job.” I couldn’t help but chuckle. “It just so happens I’m overqualified for the job, and I’ll take it.” Howard’s wife, Connie, was the mayor of River Canyon as well as the local real estate agent, and while she was a little hesitant to allow a convict to live within her apparently prestigious little hamlet, she agreed to set me up in a place just within the town limits. “We have a reputation to uphold, you see,” she said in a voice that was unintentionally snooty, waving around a wineglass that was just a little too full. “And to clarify, it isn’t that I mind you being there or think you’re a threat to our little town. But it’s the others, you understand?” Actually, I could tell she did very much mind and was only going along with the plan for the time being to keep the peace among her husband and brother-in-law. It wouldn’t surprise me if she immediately demanded that Howard revoke the job offer as soon as they got home. But still, I was grateful she was at least being kind of nice to my face. Judging from the way she pinched her lips and sucked at h...

I knew the next chapter of my life would officially begin in River Canyon the moment I crossed town lines. It was a feeling I didn’t even necessarily want—because, let’s be real, it was a little too quaint and pedigree for a mutt like me—but there it was, warm and comfortable, building up from somewhere deep in my gut. It was so different from what I was used to and where I’d been. Every lawn we passed was mowed to perfection, and every bush was trimmed and meticulously shaped. There wasn’t a piece of trash in sight, and all the lamp posts looked to be straight from one of those Norman Rockwell paintings Gramma used to love. I’d fallen into some small-town twilight zone, and I was beginning to second-guess my decision to give this a shot despite my heart telling me I was in the right place.

“You know, maybe I should find something somewhere else.” “Soldier, this is your best chance at starting over while still remaining within the state lines,” Harry replied, but what he meant was, There is nothing else. “Honestly, if it wasn’t for your probation, I’d tell you to just get the hell out of Connecticut altogether. Move to Alabama and start over.” “Why Alabama?” Every single house was decorated for Christmas, decked out to the nines. I wondered if it was a part of the agreement when buying a place here. Connie looked like the kinda lady to pass some crazy rule like that. Thou shalt not leave a shingle untouched by a twinkling light. I snorted at my own joke. Harry shrugged. “I dunno. First state I thought of.” “You think I’d cut it in Alabama?” I asked, glancing at him with a raised brow. “Dunno. Never been there.” “Then, why’d you think of it?” Harry sighed as we pulled up to a Stop sign. “Soldier, you’re worse than my grandkids.” “Sorry,” I said, raking both hands through my hair. “I’m fuckin’ nervous.” “Don’t be. We’re gonna check out your new place, then go to the grocery store and get things set up there. No big deal.” I glanced at the older guy beside me and said, “Harry, I dunno why the hell you’re doing all this for me, but … thank you. I know I’ve said it already, but really, I mean it. Thank you.” He peered at me from over his silver frames, then smiled. “Good people deserve good things, Soldier, and it’s about time someone showed you that.” It wasn’t t...

we pulled into the trailer park on the outskirts of town, I still didn’t get it. Because this wasn’t the type of trailer park you thought of in your mind—you know, some trashy, beat-up-looking place, where some shirtless guy named Buck sat on a busted lawn chair all day, scratching his hairy gut, drinking a beer, while he waited for the unemployment check to roll in. No, this place was a bright, cheery community of tiny houses, all close together, with gardens and itty-bitty porches. Sure, as we drove through the narrow streets, I found not all of them were as taken care of as others, but, man, it was nice. Nicer than any place I’d lived before. “All right,” Harry announced, “here we are—1111 Daffodil Lane.” Eleven eleven. Make a wish. My palms were coated in a sheen of sweat as I remembered a cupcake and a flameless, smoking candle from a long time ago. I cleared my throat and made an attempt at a joke to hide my nerves. “Harry, do I look like the kinda guy who would live on Daffodil Lane?” His gaze traveled over my face, as if he were really considering the question. “You look like the kind of guy who’s getting a second chance at life. Now, come on. Let’s check it out.”

She had said the place was a little run-down and could use some TLC. The former owners had walked away from it after no longer being able to afford the bills, and because Connie decided it was better to let someone fix it up rather than have it go to hell in a handbasket, she offered it to me at a monthly cost of two weeks’ pay at her husband’s grocery store. “I can’t go any lower than that,” she had said. “So, if you find you can’t afford that and the utilities—” “I’ll make it work,” I’d promised her, just happy to have somewhere to go. Somewhere to call mine. And now, looking at 1111 Daffodil Lane, I was filled with even more of a determination to make it work. Because this place—with its peeling siding, warped little stoop, and broken front window—needed me as much as I needed it.

the door needed a good push after being unlocked. The interior wasn’t much better than the outside. Stained carpet, flaking paint, dirty appliances, and a bathroom I would’ve gotten written up for at Wayward greeted us. Harry stood at the crusty kitchen counter as I finished my tour of the bleak-looking place. His face was locked in a permanent grimace, like even he was ready to drop the Mr. Positivity act. “So, uh …” He rubbed a hand over his chin as his eyes frisked the living room-slash-dining room once again and the questionable brown stains on the carpet. “Listen … if you wanna say screw it, I wouldn’t—” “I like it.” He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his forehead, sighing exhaustedly. I was wearing the poor guy out. “Soldier, you don’t have to say that just because—” “Listen, is it the lap of luxury? No. Does it need some serious cleaning and work? Yeah. Could they use this place as the set for the next Texas Chain Saw Massacre movie? Absolutely. But what else do I have going on, Harry? I mean, apart from sweeping some floors and scrubbing a toilet at a grocery store, my schedule is pretty clear.” I looked around the grimy kitchen and nodded. “And honestly … even as is, it’s better than living with Diane.” Harry wasn’t convinced. He released a long breath that left his shoulders drooping and his head shaking. “Look, if you wanna give it a shot, that's fine. I'm just saying—” “Harry”—I held up a hand, already thinking about what I could do to spruce up that...

We parked the car and got out, and that was when the light shining over River Canyon dimmed, casting shadows where I’d once thought there were none. As we walked to the entrance, a blonde woman with a few young girls in tow took one look at me and shielded her kids with an arm, steering them out of my way. At first, I thought maybe she was just maneuvering them, instructing them to watch for others and whatever. But then I heard the whispers. “That's the guy Mayor Fischer told us about,” the woman whispered to another nearby lady, this one with black hair. “The guy who was in prison? How do you know?” The blonde nodded. “She said he was big and hard to miss.” “Didn't she say he killed someone? Does Officer Kinney know he's here?” “Yeah. He said he'd keep an eye on him, but we should probably watch out for the kids. Just in case.” I wasn't an inconspicuous guy by any means. At six foot seven, it was hard for me to blend in, and I sure as hell wasn't going to win any games of hide-and-seek anytime soon. The height and size had their advantages sometimes—I could always reach the highest shelf, and nobody had dared to fuck with me at Wayward—but now, I felt like I stood out like a giant, throbbing sore thumb. Harry patted my back reassuringly. “Hey, don't worry about it. They'll learn.” “It's fine,” I muttered, pushing the door open and walking into the store. “They just don't know you yet.” “I get it.” And I did. Once upon a time, if I'd heard that some guy moved into town wh...

So, I began my life in River Canyon. And like many things worth having, it didn’t come easily at first. My first day of work was going well enough. There was nothing difficult about pushing a broom and making sure the toilet flushed properly. But if anything got under my skin, it was the whispers. Not even the curious and accusing looks could compete with the whispers. “What happened to his face?” “How many people do you think he killed?” “What the hell was Mayor Fischer thinking?” I thought what got to me the most was, I knew my name was public knowledge, and so was my record. I was sure every one of them had a phone they could use to look me up and find out exactly what had happened and what I’d done. But no. People preferred to speculate; they preferred to talk. All because it was more interesting than the truth. I got through it though,

I walked the short ten minutes it took to get from The Fisch Market to my run-down trailer, where I made a can of soup I’d bought at the store and went to sleep on the air mattress Harry was letting me borrow until I got my hands on a bed. And that was more or less how things went the first week or so with only work on my little house to break up the monotony. One day, I came home and went to town, scrubbing the bathroom until it was suitable to shower in. Another day, I came home and pulled up the matted, stained carpets in the living room and bedrooms. Little by little, it was looking cleaner, at the very least, and I was starting to see the potential underneath the grime. But the whispers hadn’t stopped. It was the start of my second week when I walked into McKenna’s Delicatessen to grab some lunch. The only cop I ever saw wandering around town watched me with a blend of curiosity and suspicion as I walked up to the counter and asked the woman at the register—the same woman who’d shielded her kids from me that first day—for a chicken salad sandwich. “Of course,” she replied and set to work, risking a cautious glance in my direction. “So, um … you work at The Fisch Market, don’t you?” She knew I did. She’d seen me there several times, just as I’d seen her. But she was making friendly small talk, or so it seemed, while that cop observed the exchange from the row of refrigerators behind me. “Yeah,” I replied, nodding. “I just started last week.” “How are you liking it so f...

While I sat on a chair at the back of the store, eating my sandwich and trying to figure out how to send Harry a picture in a text message on that damn phone, I spotted movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see a boy of maybe ten or eleven watching me. I was sure he thought he was hiding effectively behind the rack of bananas, but the kid hid worse than I would behind a flagpole. But I pretended not to see him. I wondered where his mom or dad was. If they knew he was missing or if they knew their kid was doing a bang-up job of snooping on the new guy in town. And I bit back a laugh when he leaned too far to the left and tripped over his own feet. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, realizing he had blown his cover, only to turn right into the banana rack and knock several bunches off their hooks. “Ah, man …” I stood up, dusting the sandwich crumbs off the bib of my apron. “Don’t worry about it. I got it.” “What? N-no, it’s—” He looked over his shoulder, and his eyes raked over my body before widening with awe. “Wow. You’re, like, really tall.” “Huh.” I made a show of pressing my hands to my head and looking down at the floor. “Look at that. I guess I am.” “How tall are you?” “Last time I checked”—I pointed to the glowing Produce sign I was regularly having to duck under in order to mop the floor between the apples and oranges—“as tall as it takes to smack my head on that.” The kid stared at the sign, his mouth open in shock. “Whoa.” “Yeah. I keep asking Howar...

If prison had taught me anything, it was how to keep a strict schedule, thanks to the rigid regimen they’d kept us inmates on. So, almost immediately after I ate a dinner of canned soup and crackers, I spent an hour pulling down the wood paneling in the second bedroom. Then, I took a shower and got into bed with the book I’d recently started reading—a collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s stories and poems. Harry’s wife had an entire library of books I hadn’t read yet, and I was grateful she had passed a bunch on to me to keep me busy during the hours I wasn’t working or sleeping. Then, at nine p.m. on the dot, I closed the book, turned off the light, and went to sleep. It was a restless slumber, one that kept me tossing and turning, haunted by the past, the silence, and a foreboding that sometimes weaseled into my veins, one I couldn’t shake or explain. One that said the demons from my life before this place were never too far behind.

I peered into the road and saw nothing to raise suspicion. And maybe, at that point, I should’ve just gone back to sleep, but something told me not to, the same something that said to go outside and make sure it was in fact nothing. I opened the door and stepped out onto the steps I was convinced were going to snap under my weight one of these days. The night was cold. Snow was beginning to fall. Little flecks of white drifted through the sky, landing in my hair and on my bare shoulders. Fuck, it’s freezing out here. I rubbed my arms vigorously with my palms as I swept my gaze over the small area in front of my house, and then they landed on the toppled-over metal garbage can. I sighed and rolled my eyes, feeling like an idiot for being so spooked by something so stupid, and I went to pick it up when a sound—much smaller and quieter than the crash before—came from beneath my rotten steps. I turned on my heel to find my eyes meeting the yellow gaze of a tiny gray kitten. “Hey,” I said softly, kneeling and extending a hand. “Come here, little guy.” I’d never had a cat before, but I knew they were selective in who they would trust. But this kitten seemed to have a good feeling about me because he came right to me without hesitation—or maybe he was just cold. His little nose bumped against my fingers, as if he were saying, Hello, before running his scrawny back beneath my hand. “Where’s your mom, huh?” I asked, knowing he’d never answer. Except he did. He mewed with anguish, a...

It was eleven eleven, and it had been my first good day in River Canyon.

It was a Sunday, a month after I’d arrived in River Canyon, and I had a day off. It was the beginning of February, close to my birthday, and it shouldn’t have been as warm as it was. So, I found myself outside, assessing the beat-up steps leading up to my door. I had helped Grampa with quite a few projects in my youth, and I’d done some woodworking at Wayward. I was confident I could do something with those steps if I had the supplies, but that was another issue entirely. For now, I was only checking them out. Seeing if there was anything I could do to keep them from collapsing before I got the chance to get to Home Depot. “Hey!” I turned to the familiar voice, and there was Noah. Standing on the little porch of the trailer next to mine. “Hi, Noah,” I replied, offering a small, friendly wave. “Can I come over?” “Uh …” I rubbed my bearded chin, unsure of how to answer. “You know, I’m not sure your mom—” “Okay, hold on. I’ll ask her!” He ran inside before I could stop him, and I sighed, listening to him bellow for his mother. There’s no way that lady is going to be okay with him coming over here. She seems too overprotective. No freakin’— “She said it’s fine!” Noah shouted, running out of his house and down the steps. “Oh. Uh, okay.” I watched as he ran to stand at the bottom of my stairs. “Watch out for this, okay?” I pointed to the loose and rotted boards. “I don’t want you getting hurt.” He nodded. “Okay.” This wasn’t how I’d planned to spend my day. Sitting outside, ente...

I gestured toward the house next door. “So, you live over there, huh?” I asked him, making conversation. “Yep.” He kicked at the dirt. “Just me and my mom. Well, sometimes, my dad is here, but most of the time, it’s just us.” “Oh, cool. I haven’t seen you guys around.” Noah shrugged. “Mom said I couldn’t talk to you before. She gets kinda worried about people. But”—he kicked at a rock this time—“I guess she changed her mind.” I twisted my lips and nodded slowly. I wondered if seeing me at the grocery store had altered her opinion of the ex-con who had infiltrated their cozy little River Canyon bubble, and I took it as a good thing. “But she did say I can’t go in your house,” he added, lifting a hand to gesture at my door. “She said she hasn’t decided if you’re a creep or not yet.” I laughed at that. “You have a smart mom.” “So, like, are you a creep?” I tipped my head back to squint toward the blinding sun. “I mean, I don’t think so, but I guess that depends on who you ask.” Noah inhaled deeply and nodded, studying my unfortunate-looking house. “Well, I don’t think you’re a creep. I can usually tell that kinda stuff.” “Oh, well, thanks,” I said, stifling a chuckle. “I don’t think you’re a creep either.” Next door, a window opened, and I glanced over my shoulder to see his mom peering outside. I lifted a hand in a small wave, and she lifted hers to wave back. Then, she mouthed, Sorry, and pointed at Noah, standing there, kicking at the same rock with determination, and I sh...

“Hey! You have a cat?” Noah abruptly cut me off, changing the subject as he hurried up the steps to crouch in front of the screen door. “Uh … yeah … well”—I scratched at the back of my head—“I guess, kind of.” “You guess?” Ray asked, amused. “How do you not know if you own a cat?” “He kinda adopted me,” I replied sheepishly. “I brought him in about a week ago after finding him out here when it was snowing, and he just sorta decided not to leave.” She smiled, and my stomach stumbled over itself, mid-somersault. “He’s cute,” she said, never diverting her gaze from mine. “He’s a good guy,” I replied, unsure in the moment if I was still talking about the cat or not. “What’s his name?” Noah asked, letting the kitten sniff his fingers through the screen. “Uh … I’m calling him Eleven for now.” Ray hummed contemplatively, and I raised an inquisitive brow. “The guy with the interesting name would call his cat something equally interesting,” she said, studying me with the most curious glint in her eyes. “Guess I like to, uh … keep things interesting,” I replied awkwardly, followed by a chuckle that was just as, if not more, awkward. What the hell is going on? Are we … flirting? It’d been a while since I had flirted with anyone. Hell, it had been a while since I’d had much contact with the opposite sex at all, particularly one seemingly in my age bracket. One who was beautiful, wearing a smattering of freckles across her nose and a sweater as soft-looking as her hair. But the kid had...

And I did. I noticed that every Tuesday, Ray and Noah came to The Fisch Market to do their grocery shopping. And every Tuesday, Noah stopped by to chat with me wherever I was cleaning or stocking the shelves while his mom did the shopping. She never seemed thrilled that he was neglecting to help her to while he was talking with me, but she never seemed bothered by it either. Not the way everyone else seemed to be. “I can’t believe you’re letting your son talk to him,” I overheard one woman say. “You know he’s a criminal, right?” “Lots of people are criminals, Sheila,” Ray replied, unamused. “Doesn’t make all of them bad.” “I’m not talking about a couple of nights in jail, Ray. He was in prison for a decade.” Actually, it was just short of ten years, Sheila, but who’s counting? What stood out to me though was that Ray hadn’t just replied to that woman—she had defended me. And while Noah followed me as I swept and his mom let him while not allowing others to talk shit about me to her, it almost seemed like I had two more people on my side. It was nice, and Tuesdays became my favorite day.

until the Tuesday when I turned thirty-one. My first birthday back in society and the ten-year anniversary of the day I’d been arrested. Harry had called to wish me a good one and asked if I’d like to come by that weekend for dinner at his place. I appreciated the sentiment, but I couldn’t say I was really in the mood to celebrate. Because all I could do was think about Billy. When I woke up, as I ate breakfast, and when I got dressed for work … I thought about Billy. And I continued to think about him on the brisk bike ride to work, and I continued thinking about him as I smacked my head against the Produce sign not once, but three times throughout the day. “You always duck,” Noah observed on the third hit as I rubbed my forehead and cursed under my breath. I glanced over my shoulder at him. “Huh?” “The sign.” He pointed at the damn thing, taunting me with its bright, colorful light. “You always duck.” “Yeah, I usually do,” I agreed with a sigh, resuming the push of the mop through a puddle of spilled apple juice. “So, why not today?” “Because it’s …” I stopped and leaned against the mop handle, deciding if I should be honest or not. But I always found it was usually better to tell the truth, so I said, “It’s not a great day for me.” “Oh.” Noah frowned. “Why not?” “Well, it’s my birthday, and—” Ray gasped, and I turned to see her standing near the pyramid of potatoes. “Wait. It’s your birthday?” Her mouth remained frozen in a wide O, like she should’ve realized this. I br...

Ray had made a pot of spaghetti and some of the best meatballs I’d ever eaten in my life. I even told her they were better than my grandmother’s, which was one of the greatest compliments I could ever give anyone. “You were close with your grandmother?” she asked, making conversation as she spooned another meatball onto my dish. “I was.” I cut the meatball in half with my fork and popped one side into my mouth, eating like I hadn’t consumed good food in a really, really long fucking time. Which wasn’t entirely true. The weeks I’d spent with Harry’s family were filled with excellent food. But it’d been over a month since then, and Ray’s cooking, I’d found, was even better. Ray studied me with a soft, albeit intense, stare, a slight curve to her lips as she watched me stuff the other half of the meatball into my mouth. I met her eyes mid-chew, and she didn’t look away. We held each other captive for a few thundering beats of my heart as the questions mounted between us, piling high on the table and cluttering the bowl of spaghetti and incredible meatballs. Why is she looking at me like that? How is she so fucking pretty? Where is Noah’s dad? Would a woman already involved with a man stare at another like this? Noah sighed and shifted in his chair, breaking the spell between his mother and me. I diverted my gaze to the sauce smeared across my otherwise empty plate while Ray cleared her throat and addressed her son. “Excuse me, are we boring you?” she teased, reaching over to ...

you mind me asking why today is so bad?” I was quickly finding that Ray shared that same no-filters-allowed quality with her son, and I liked it. It was a breath of fresh air when everyone else around me seemed to walk on eggshells. Nobody ever knew how to act or what to say while Ray and Noah simply didn’t care. They just said whatever was on their minds, and, man, it was nice. I chewed at my lip, wondering if I even wanted to say it aloud when tonight had already been so nice. Would I ruin it all by allowing that persistent black cloud to hang over us? But Ray was so insistent with those soft, big green eyes, watching my every move, and I felt I couldn’t run away from this. I felt I didn’t want to. “My best friend died today,” I admitted. “The same night I was arrested. Ten years ago.” She held my gaze for a moment, not at all surprised by the admission, before letting her head hang as she nodded in a way that said she had already known and had somehow forgotten. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “That must suck, having to share your birthday with such a horrible memory.” “Honestly”—I laughed, beside myself—“it’s not the first. But it’s definitely the worst, and yeah, it does suck.” Her hands clenched at her sides before she blurted out, “Did you actually kill him?” She shook her head immediately after and spun quickly on her heel, facing the sink again. “You know what? No, never mind. Don’t answer that.” I swallowed, allowing a war to begin in my head. I had only known Ray...

Ray pulled a box from the refrigerator and opened it, revealing a cake that was the perfect size for three. The sight of it brought on the same emotions I had felt a year ago, when Harry gave me a slice of pizza on my thirtieth birthday. God, how was that only one year ago? It hit me all at once, all of a sudden, that it was possible for guys like me to be surrounded by good people. People unrelated by blood. People who’d made the choice to know me and like me, simply for being myself, despite the shit I’d been convicted of. “Are you okay?” Ray asked, eyeing me with concern. Realizing my eyes had begun to tear up, I cleared my throat and blinked them away. “Yeah,” I said, nodding. “All good.” “Okay,” she said with a smile before calling Noah back to the table. They sang “Happy Birthday,” and we ate the cake, which was delicious. After, it was Noah’s bedtime and mine, and I had a cat to feed. So, I wished them both a good night and counted the thirteen steps between her place and mine, knowing that it undoubtedly was a very, very good night.

Little by little, the trailer started to look more like a home and less like a condemned wreck. With every paycheck, I bought something else to help the renovation along—a can of paint here, an area rug there. I snagged a hand-me-down couch from Mrs. Henderson and an old coffee table from Harry’s other daughter, Pamela. On my way home one day, I found a few perfectly good lamps on the side of the road, and on another occasion, I uncovered a decent dining table that just needed some sanding and a fresh coat of paint. After a couple of months of working at The Fisch Market, I’d saved enough money to get myself an actual mattress. And just like that, the bedroom looked more like what it was intended to be and less like a dungeon. Needless to say, of everything I’d accomplished in my life—the good stuff, I mean—I was the proudest of this.

By March, the interior was looking decent. It wasn’t done—the kitchen was still in desperate need of an overhaul with its shit-brown cabinets and peeling Formica countertop—but it was passable as a home. And with the snow starting to melt and the days beginning to warm, I figured it was time to start planning what I was gonna do outside. Noah had ideas too. “You should have a garden,” he declared as we stood outside together, assessing the exterior and what little land I had to work with. “Mom’s always wanted a garden, but she doesn’t have time.” “So, why should I have one?” I challenged despite agreeing with him. I had loved gardening when I was at Wayward, and the idea of growing my own food sounded better than paying for it. Howard liked to jack up the prices on produce—likely to fund his wife’s addiction to fancy clothes and purses—and I wasn’t making enough money to regularly cover my desire for fresh veggies. “Because I like tomatoes,” Noah replied simply. I crossed my arms over my chest and eyed him with a raised brow. “So, let me get this straight. You want me to have a garden because you like tomatoes.” He nodded and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Yep.” “And what do I get out of this deal?” “I guess you can have some, too, if you want.” “Oh, okay,” I said with an amused snort. “Sure. Sounds like a plan.”

day was quiet for a Saturday, especially one this beautiful. The sun was warm, and the birds were singing joyously from the trees surrounding our houses. Spring was quickly approaching, and we were the only people outside in our part of the community. So, when the sound of an enormous vehicle rumbled down Daffodil Lane, shattering the peace and silence, Noah and I both jumped with a start. “Oh, that’s my dad,” he mumbled, sounding less than enthusiastic. It was odd to me that, from the beginning, the kid had mentioned that he had a father on a couple of occasions, but not once had I seen him. Why had months passed of me living in this town before I finally witnessed any evidence of a father? “You should go inside,” Noah said hurriedly, like he was on the verge of panicking. “Why?” I peered down the road, eager to catch a glimpse of this guy who never seemed to check on his family. “Because …” His breath escalated, and his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Because my dad doesn’t like me talking to people he doesn’t know, so … go … please.” I knew desperation when I heard it, and I listened out of respect for Noah. But I didn’t like the small, frightened tone of his voice, and it was for that reason that I stayed directly on the other side of my front door, watching through the flimsy curtain as the silver pickup truck came into view and parked sloppily outside of Ray and Noah’s house with its front tire up on the bricks surrounding her small front yard. I didn’t like that truck...

“Hey, Patrick,” I said, walking into McKenna’s that following Monday, not surprised to see him hanging around. Officer Kinney’s wife, Kinsey, worked the counter at the deli. So, naturally, the guy spent a good deal of his time busting her chops while she worked. He offered a friendly smile at my greeting. “Hey, Soldier. How’s it goin’?” “All right. Can’t complain.” I stopped to lean against the counter beside him. “Actually, I have a question for you.” “Yeah? What’s up?” “You know a lot about the people around here, right?” He puckered his lips with contemplation before saying, “Sure, I’d say so. Why do you ask?” “So, what do you know about Ray’s boyfriend?” Patrick wrinkled his brow as he turned to Kinsey, waiting behind the counter for me to give her my order. “Does Ray have a boyfriend?” he asked her, and she shrugged and replied, “No, I don’t think so.” Well, that’s an interesting turn of events. “Okay,” I hummed and tapped my fingers against the glass case housing the deli meats and prepared salads. “What about Noah’s dad then? What do you know about him?” “Well, I know he has one … obviously,” Patrick replied, still deep in thought. “We don’t see him often around here though. As far as I know, he’s never lived with Ray. Honestly, I’m not sure they’ve ever been together—or at least not in the time she’s lived here.” “And how long has that been?” Kinsey twisted her lips to the side before saying, “Um … maybe five, six, seven years, give or take? Noah wasn’t a baby when...

That time did come, however, when, a couple of days later, that same truck was parked outside Ray’s place late into the evening. Noah was sitting on the curb in the quiet dark. “Hey,” I said, poking my head out my door. “What are you doing out so late?” It was nine o’clock on a school night. Noah was never outside this late on a school night. He looked in my direction, but didn’t say anything. So, I brushed Eleven out of the way with a sweep of my foot—that damn cat was always trying to sneak back outside into the same world I’d rescued him from—and walked out the door and onto the steps I still hadn’t fixed. At the sight of my approach, Noah began to shake his head, his eyes widening with a warning. “Noah, why are you outside?” I asked again, sterner than before. “Is everything okay?” “I can’t talk right now,” he hissed quietly. A loud sound came from inside Ray’s house. It could’ve been a piece of furniture being thrown. A door being slammed. Whatever it was, warning bells rang loudly in my head, clanging with every beat of my heart, and I took a step further toward Noah. “No, no, no. Please, Soldier,” he begged in a frantic, hushed voice, just as a man’s voice shouted something incoherent from inside the house. I didn’t want to go back into my place. I didn’t want to pretend that the kid wasn’t scared or that something wasn’t happening inside the house he shared with his mom. Everything told me to do the opposite, and so I did.

I marched right past Noah on the curb, who was still begging and pleading for me to stop and go back home, and I walked up the porch steps and knocked loudly on the door. “Who the fuck is that?” I heard a man’s voice shout. “I-I don’t know.” That was Ray, and she sounded small and terrified. Her voice … so, so different from the woman I knew and so, so familiar from somewhere far away. “Well then, maybe you should answer the fucking door.” He was angry, condescending. I knew without meeting the man that I hated him. Ray did as she had been told and slowly opened the door to reveal her tear-streaked face and giant, baggy sweater wrapped tightly around her body. Her eyes widened at the sight of me standing on her porch, her cheeks reddened with embarrassment, and she shook her head, just as Noah had done. “You have to go—” “No.” I stopped her, placing my palm against the door as she tried to close it. “What’s going on in there?” “It’s nothing. You have to go now.” “It doesn’t sound like nothing, Ray.” I kept my voice quiet. I didn’t want the monster inside to hear me. I didn’t want to get her into more trouble by simply being there—for caring. But if she was in danger—and it sure as hell seemed like she was—I wasn’t going to sit back and listen to it happen. “Just blink twice if you need me to do something, and I’ll do something right now.” She made a show of keeping her eyes open, void of any emotion but sincere warning. “What I need is for you to go. Please.” Her tone was ...

Noah didn’t go back inside until Ray opened the door an hour later, and I never stopped watching through the faded cloth hanging over the window. Once he was inside, Ray stepped onto the porch and cried. She held her arm against her chest, and I narrowed my eyes. What the fuck is going on over there? I wanted to walk over and demand an explanation. But I figured now wasn’t the time, so I continued to watch until the shadowed figure of the monster next door left without a glance at the woman on the porch and drove away in his big, obnoxious truck, and I didn’t stop watching until Ray went back inside. The next day, bright and early in the morning before work, I wandered over to the house next door and knocked until Ray opened the door. There was a brace on her wrist and a forced smile on her face. “H-hey, Soldier. What can I—” “What the hell happened here last night?” She shook her head indifferently. “Nothing. Really. Noah’s dad and I just got into an argument, and things got a little heated. I told Noah to go outside so he didn’t have to hear us yelling.” “I could hear the yelling from inside my house,” I countered, crossing my arms and eyeing her studiously. “What happened to your arm?” She glanced at the black brace Velcroed to her wrist. She must’ve acquired it sometime in the night after I’d somehow gotten to sleep, and she swallowed at the sight of it now. Then, she waved a dismissive hand, sending the question away with a lighthearted laugh. “I was putting some stuf...

Once the list of things to do in the trailer started getting shorter and more expensive, I was flying through books closer to my prison rate. Two or three books a week was my average, depending on the length of the story, and thankfully, the library was just a short walk from work. And thankfully, I had an in with the prettiest librarian. One day a week, my work schedule coincided with Ray’s, and on that day, we would go home together. Sometimes, if the weather was nice enough, we walked. On other days, we took her car and shoved my bike into the backseat. I always preferred the days we walked. The air in River Canyon was different from anywhere else I’d been. It was sweeter, lighter, like cotton candy without the stomachache. I couldn’t understand how, when it wasn’t far from larger cities or highways and the traffic wasn’t much unlike other towns. But maybe all I was smelling was hope. Or maybe it was just the pretty lady at my side.

“So, is Ray short for anything? Like Rachel or something?” She didn’t respond right away, hugging her bruised wrist to her chest. Even weeks later, I couldn’t look at her with that brace without the prickle of anger edging its way beneath my skin. “I thought it was an innocent question,” I muttered, my feelings mildly hurt as I led the way, turning off Main Street and toward our neighborhood. “It is, but …” She huffed irritably and tipped her head back to look up at the overhead trees that were beginning to bud with new leaves. “Rain.” I looked up, squinting at a clear, star-filled sky. “What? I don’t see any—” “No. I mean, that’s my name. Ray is short for Rain.” My gait slowed as, all at once, I remembered a girl with soft brown hair and a scream I could still hear to this day. The only girl—the only person—from my time before Wayward whom I had never wronged, whom I had simply saved. The girl who had kept me sane during a time I might’ve otherwise gone crazy. “That’s weird,” I said quietly, hardly seeing the road in front of me when I could only see that face. Those big green eyes, full of fear and suspicion. “What is?” “I met a girl named Rain once.” Ray hugged her book even tighter. “And I once met a guy named Soldier.” There’s no way. There’s no possible way … But … what if … I swallowed at a lump in my throat, but to no avail. It wouldn’t budge, just as my heart wouldn’t slow and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “When … when did you meet him?” We took our time turning...

I’m going to tell you something that’s probably gonna sound weird, but hear me out.” She furrowed her brow and nodded. “Okay …” “So …” I cleared my throat as the bag of groceries began to slip from my arm. I hoisted it back up as I thought about some of the letters I’d never sent but kept as a scrapbook of some kind. “You know what? Hold on. Stay right here.” I hurried past her toward my house as she nervously said, “Um, all right …” I fumbled to hold on to the books and bag as I dug into my pocket for the keys. I had to be quick. I didn’t want too much time to pass with her wondering what crazy shit was going on after she’d just dropped a bomb on me. Holy shit. I can’t believe this is actually happening right now, I thought as I dumped everything on the table and ran to my bedroom, where I knelt on the floor and dug a box out from beneath the bed. In it was a stack of letters I had written to a girl who existed for the most part in my head, where I had imagined what incredible things she might’ve gone on to do after I rescued her from a violation I never would’ve forgiven myself for had I allowed it to happen under my watch. I pulled out those letters, holding them in my hands for the first time in months, unable to believe that the person I had written them to was standing right outside. I hesitated only a moment before climbing to my feet and running back through the front door, where I found her still waiting by her steps. “Okay,” I said, holding the letters tightly in...

one night, while I was lying in my bunk, I started thinking about this girl …” I turned back to Ray, hardly able to believe that she was her. Unable to believe she was here, right now, looking back at me, all these years later. How the hell had I not noticed it before? “The one person I hadn’t hurt at all. And I began to wonder what had happened to her, where she had gone, what she had done with her life … I thought that maybe she might be the only person I had made a positive impact on and maybe she could be the only person to ever think of me and remember how good I was.” Ray’s eyes held mine with an unexplained intensity and sadness as I clutched the bundle of rubber-banded letters. She stood there, frozen, clutching her book to her chest like she was afraid to let go, to do anything else but stare and wait with bated breath. “So”—I held up the bundle in one hand—“I wrote letters to her. Whenever I had something to say or something happened, I would write these letters to Rain, thinking she’d never read them—but that was fine. She was just someone to talk to, you know, even if she only existed in my head. Like, uh … an imaginary friend.” Ray’s lips parted with a whispered exhale as she lifted the hand not holding her book and hesitantly reached out to take the bound letters from me. “You … wrote these to me?” I nodded, then chuckled through a rush of embarrassment. “I told you it was weird.” “No.” She shook her head, looking at the top envelope, simply reading Rain in m...

Her front door opened, and then came a voice I didn’t recognize. “Ray?” Ray exhaled with a disgruntled sigh as she quickly took a step away, and I was disappointed, but I was also so elated that I almost didn’t care. Almost. “Yeah, Mom,” she answered without looking in her mother’s direction. She kept her eyes on me as she grimaced with an unspoken apology. I couldn’t stop smiling. “Are you ever coming inside, or do you live on the porch now?” Ray rolled her eyes. “I’m coming in. Just give me a minute.” Her mom exhaled noisily. “Okay. Oh, and, you know, it’s a little rude not to introduce me to your friend.” I peered around Ray to give her mother—a gray-haired woman, wearing an amused smirk—a wave. “Hi, I’m Soldier. I, uh … I live next door”—I gestured toward my little house—“over there.” She crossed her arms, never letting the smirk leave her face. “I know who you are.” Given my reputation, I wasn’t sure that was such a good thing until she added with a little teasing grin, “My daughter and grandson have made it their new hobby to talk about you.” “Oh,” I replied, knowing damn well by the heat in my face that I was blushing like a fucking jackass. But so was Ray. “Thank you for that, Mom. So very much.” “Mmhmm,” her mom replied cheerfully. “It was nice to finally meet you, Soldier. I’m Barbara, by the way.” “Nice to meet you too.” “Ray, I’ll give you one more minute, but after that, I can’t guarantee your son won’t be the one to interrupt your little moment,” she jabbed p...

Dear Rain, Why did your parents name you Rain? My mom told me once that she named me Soldier because, once upon a time, she believed I’d save her life. It’s such a cruel irony that I actually did save her sorry ass time and time again, and she never acknowledged it. Not once. Her self-absorption and addiction and whatever the hell else is wrong with her have left her so completely incapable of looking outside of herself that she can’t see the sacrifices I’ve made for her. Which is why I don’t think she could’ve picked a more appropriate name for me. Because my life has been one massive war of survival and sacrifice, yet somehow, I prevail. What does that say about me? What does it say about her? I’m thinking about Mom tonight, obviously. I wish I weren’t. But that’s my downfall too. She’s my mom, and for every moment that I hate her, there’s a moment in which I miss her and all the potential we had to have more than this dysfunctional, toxic bullshit of a relationship. Anyway, I’m wondering why your parents named you Rain. Was it raining when you were born? Were they hippies? Did they make sweet, passionate love outside during a thunderstorm the night you were conceived? I just laughed out loud and woke up the guy next to me. He’s pissed. I should stop now. Soldier

Dear Rain, Today, they moved me from laundry duty to the kitchen again. I like the kitchen, so I’m cool with it. Laundry gave me too much time to think and get trapped inside my own head. You’d think I’d feel like that about cleaning, but I don’t. Cleaning is relaxing. There’s instant gratification for the work you’ve done. You can see your progress as it’s happening. But laundry? Hell no. All I can do is load the machines and watch them spin while my mind plummets into places better left untouched. It’s too monotonous, you know? Kitchen duty is better. I get to hang with a couple of the guys I like and eat as much of the food as I want. Not that the food is great, but you get used to it. Anyway, one of the guys on the kitchen crew asked about my scar, and I thought about you. It’s a little crazy, isn’t it? Of all the shit I’ve been through, the one thing that marked me for life was a direct result of saving you. And I’m glad for it. I’m glad for this scar. Because every time I look at it or touch it or someone asks about it, I get to remember all over again that I am capable of doing something good without it ending in someone else’s pain. And if I tell myself that enough, maybe, one day, I’ll start to believe it. Soldier P.S. Oh, and he thought my scar was pretty badass, like I’m some kind of gallant hero or something, and for once, I agreed.

“Are you a bad guy?” Noah asked me one weekend as I pulled the weeds from the small plot of dirt I had to my name. I glanced over my shoulder and wiped the sweat from my brow. “Do you think I’m a bad guy?” He dropped his gaze to the gravel beneath his feet and seemed to consider his own question for a moment. “I don’t think so,” he replied, although he sounded unsure. “But you were in jail, and my friend Greg says that only bad guys go to jail.” With a deep breath, I sat back on my heels and rested my hands on my knees. “Good guys go to jail too, Noah,” I said, choosing my words carefully, still not wanting to divulge too much information. “Unfortunately, sometimes, accidents happen, and even good guys have to pay for them.” “So, is that what happened with you? An accident?” I still wasn’t sure that his mother wanted me to talk about this stuff with him. But he was curious, and his questions were incessant, and trying to steer him away from them was exhausting. “Yes,” I said with a held sigh. “It was a horrible accident.” “So, like … if it was just an accident, why did you have to go to jail?” I released my breath and squinted up toward a sky that looked like it was about to pour at any second. “Because … I made a decision—a really bad one—and I had to be punished for it.” I glanced over my shoulder at him again to watch the gears in his head turn. He was a smart kid, even in the things he didn’t understand. He reminded me of myself in a way—except his mom was better. His ...

“So,” I said, taking out four slices of bread, “what do you mean, your dad does bad things?” “Like …” I glanced over my shoulder to watch as he pulled in a deep breath while his mouth twisted angrily. “Like when he hurts my mom. Crap like that.” The brace that had been on Ray’s arm came to mind immediately, and I clenched my hand tighter around the butter knife as I slathered mayo onto the bread. “He hurts your mom?” “Yeah, sometimes.” “Does he hurt you?” Noah didn’t reply right away, and I took another glance over my shoulder to see him frozen with his hand resting on Eleven’s back. I didn’t want to push him or dig for information I wasn’t privy to. The last thing I wanted was to make him uncomfortable. But I also wanted him to know he could tell me if he didn’t feel safe, if he was scared. I wanted him to know that, as long as I was around, I’d do anything to protect them—him and his mom. “Hey, it’s okay. You—” “He hurts me sometimes, yeah,” he quietly confessed, every word coated in shame. “But he hurts Mom more.” Back when I had been a kid, sometimes, I’d hear my classmates making comments about my family. How old my grandparents were. How weird my mom was. Shit like that had mostly been innocent, looking back on it, but the implications hadn’t been innocent at all. My skin would prickle and itch as every nerve ending in my body would scream at me to fight, to defend and protect. That was how I felt right now, listening to Noah talk about his dad. “Hurts her how?” I as...

Later that day, after the sandwiches were eaten and Noah got tired of playing with Eleven, I walked him back home. His house wasn’t more than thirteen steps from mine, and he always insisted he could go alone, but I felt better, walking him back myself. You never knew with people these days. Especially ones who drove obnoxious pickup trucks. Plus, walking him home meant seeing his mom. He unlocked the door with the key he carried and headed inside, immediately shouting that he’d see me later as he ran to his room while I found Ray in the kitchen. She sat at the table, holding one of my letters in her hand, and I tried not to think too much about what she might be reading. It was fine that she was looking at them, fine that she was learning more about me, but something about being present while she read them … It made me want to run away and hide my head in shame. “Hi.” She looked up at me with a smile. “Hey,” I said, unable to stop myself from looking at her lips. It had been days since she’d last kissed me, and I wanted to do it again. Hell, I wanted to do it a lot. But I wouldn’t push it. Those things were always better when they happened exactly when they were meant to rather than forcing it along. She lifted the letter she had been reading. “This is my fourth one,” she said before allowing her smile to droop. “I’m so sorry you went through all of this.” I invited myself to sit down across from her. “It is what it is.” “You say that like it’s so normal to be thrown in p...

eye a cookie jar shaped like a cow. One of its ears had been broken off. Now, Ray had a twelve-year-old son. Things were bound to break at some point. But a twinge of intuition told me that cow had been broken in a way Noah had nothing to do with. So, I turned from the cow to level Ray with a serious expression and said, “Speaking of remarkable men, why don’t you tell me more about Noah’s father?” She swallowed and sat up a little straighter in her chair to favor the wrist no longer wearing a brace. It was a small tell but like I had already told her once before, if she wanted me to believe her stories, she would have to learn to act better than that. “Did he do that to your wrist?” I asked point-blank, and she answered with wide, angry eyes and the opening and closing of her mouth. Like she wanted to say something, but didn’t know what. So, I added, “Noah told me he hurts you.” She clenched her hand and slowly shook her head as her bottom lip began to quiver. “He wasn’t supposed to say anything. I told him not to—” “But I can’t help you if I don’t know,” I interrupted, gentle but firm. “So, talk to me, Ray. Please.” Her gaze dragged slowly from her once-injured wrist to meet my eye for a fleeting moment, just long enough for me to witness the helplessness and despair she carried along with her, concealed from the rest of the world. I saw the hope she was desperate to feel, the prayer for salvation, but then, she abruptly looked away. “There’s nothing you can do anyway,” s...

“I know what to do with pain, Ray,” I said, keeping my tone barely above a whisper. “Give yours to me. Let me carry it, so you don’t have to anymore.”