Chapter Ten
“What are you thinking?” Amy asks.
Her question jolts me. Have I told her about how Leigh used to ask me that? If I did, I don’t remember, but I have been drinking more than I should of late, and sometimes I wake up not remembering exactly what I’ve said the night before.
“Nothing,” I reply. Above us, boys’ feet stomp the floor. In a room adjoining the living room, Rosie’s sleeping in a bed Amy bought for her especially, so she could nap at her house. The plan is for me and my children to go home after she wakes up. It’s what we always do on a Sunday evening. “Just daydreaming.”
I wouldn’t call this a quiet Sunday afternoon. Amy’s had to go upstairs twice to break up a quarrel between her two boys. They seem on edge today, but they’re teenagers, so that’s nothing out of the
