“Are you going to kill him?” I don’t know what I want to hear. “No, sweetie,” Mom says. But I don’t hear any conviction behind it. I know that Sam wants to put a bullet in Dad’s head. Maybe more than one. And I get it. I get that Dad is a monster who needs to be slayed. But Dad is also a memory to me. A strong, warm figure tucking me into bed and placing a kiss on my forehead. A laughing man whirling me around in the sun. A father kissing my boo-boo finger and making it better. A giant shadow scooping me up off that soft braided rug and folding me in warm, protective arms.
