Heather
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Kyle stayed with Heather while Kathryn did the farm chores. Heather was bored and pensive and the Barn Room felt like a prison.
“I wish I had my banjo,” she said.
Kyle nodded. He paced the floor and then erupted in spontaneous calisthenics—further intensifying the caged-in itchiness creeping up Heather’s spine, vertebra by vertebra, like spider legs.
She rolled over, her back to Kyle and his energy. For while she wanted to race over the peat bogs outside and smell the frozen farm air, her body forbid it and she curled up instead, knees up and arms crossed. Feeling restless was exhausting. Watching Kyle would put her in a coma.
Heather looked at the wall. She was a burden to her mother, when it was Heather who was supposed to be caring for Kathryn. She’d always been a burde
