78Becca collapsed by the riverbank, her back against the fallen trunk of a massive cottonwood, knees hugged against her chest.
How many times had she run? She considered her reaction to the prospect of watching them fight and realized it had been her go-to response since she was a child. When her father slapped her mother or knocked her down, Becca had learned to run because no amount of begging did any good, and if she didn't have to witness the horror, there'd be no new visions incised into her brain, no ragged, sickening memories to darken her dreams. Now, just the hint of violence repelled her.
Becca felt bile rise in her throat. She turned and vomited on the colorful river rocks. Then she closed her eyes and listened to the rushing stream.
A short time later, the cool breeze had dr
