“You think my dad will kick Donnelly out?” I ask Farrow while digging through the freezer-burnt popsicle box. I try to find the best one for Ripley. “He better not,” Farrow says, slipping a protective look at the door. It’s reassuring knowing that Farrow will throw himself in front of Donnelly if need be. I imagine Donnelly standing opposite my dad and maybe even my brother. It’s a sad picture, and my heart pangs. If he leaves, I’ll leave with him. I try not to overthink the instinct.
