As Anna pulled on the White Stag top she’d worn Thursday, finger-combed her hair before pulling it all back with a big barrette, and gave both cats a good-bye squeeze, she thought, What did you used to do, Ma—tell everyone the house was a pig sty just because the kitchen floors weren’t always clean enough to eat breakfast off? Or did you do it to make me look bad, even though you were the one who used to leave your dirty clothes all over the house?
“I’m ready,” Anna said as she stepped out into the tiny hallway that joined the bedrooms and the bath, and abutted the dining room. She could just see the edge of Terry’s left arm as he stood facing the cupboards, reading what Ma had scrawled there. When he heard her voice, he jerked and angled his head around the cupboard, a guilty look on his
