13
Willow struggled to carry the double weights of Mémé’s leaving and the raven’s coming. She no longer visited Farthest House. Around the end of the first month, she stood in the doorway of Julian’s bedroom in Omaha and stared in. He’d gone out, a “quick trip,” he said, leaving her alone—something he’d not done before the raven. She knew he’d return with bread, bologna, dry packaged cookies, and wine he’d hide quickly in a high cupboard, as though she didn’t see it.
His room felt not just empty, but hollowed out. He hadn’t made his bed since the raven, and so she hadn’t made hers. Papa didn’t care. He hadn’t worked since then either, despite Red’s coaxing. Instead, he spent his days pacing and staring out empty windows. Often, he spent the entire afternoon sitting at the kitchen table s
