I feel guilty listening to mom and grandpa fight, but I justify it to myself, saying they know how the acoustics in this house work, and they know I went upstairs. This is really on them.
I hear a door slam downstairs and realize mom has left the kitchen. I should go back downstairs, but I stay sitting on the floor of the bathroom. I press the bareskin on the back of my neck against the tiled walls, letting the chill seep into my skin. Somehow, I have even more questions than I did when I woke up this morning. What on earth is going on here? What small town crazy stuff did I just walk into? And why won’t anyone tell me what’s going on with mom and grandpa? It was almost twenty years ago. What’s so bad that they still won’t talk about it?
I sigh and start to feel tears prickling in my eye
