Some Quiet Place (Some Quiet Place #1)(47)

I take off my shoes so I don’t dirty Sarah’s clean floor, moving slowly, as if he’s a predator and I’m prey. I look at that floor as I answer, “I went to Sophia Richardson’s birthday party.” I’d left after supper and made sure to do my chores, of course. Usually, after I shut myself up in my room, no one bothers me. But tonight, apparently …

“Your mother just told me the school called yesterday.”

Ah. I’d forgotten about skipping classes when Maggie died.

“They said you were absent all morning,” Tim adds tightly. When I don’t respond, he clenches his beefy fists. “Well?” When I still don’t respond, Tim steps away from the counter, closer to me.

Move, sense whispers.

Following some strange instinct, I hold my ground, lifting my chin in what could be perceived as defiance.

The faint scent of sweat and soil drifts to my nose. I look up at Tim. He seems taller than normal. He hasn’t shaved in a while; scruff dots his chin and jaw. “You’re going to tell me where you went,” he orders. Again he waits for me to speak. Sarah’s hands tremble as she reaches up to push her hair away from her face. She looks like she’s focusing hard on thinking nothing, feeling nothing, being nothing. She’s trying to be me.

And failing miserably.

“H-honey, don’t you think—” she starts.

“Shut up.” He’s so cold, so empty. I should be seeing Anger, yet there are no Emotions present. Are they still avoiding whatever Fear sensed at Sophia’s party?

At my continued silence, Tim leaves Sarah’s side to tower over me. “Elizabeth.” It’s a warning. There’s a vein jutting out of his forehead that always precedes pain. But for some reason, I keep ignoring those insisting urges to run, fight! and just stand there, silent. I don’t answer his questions, and oddly enough, I don’t plan to. That day in the hospital … the time I’d spent at Maggie’s side … the words exchanged … it seems pure, somehow. That day is ours. Mine and Maggie’s. No one else should touch it.

Why do you care? that little voice whispers.

I don’t see it coming. He slaps me. Hard. My head is tossed to the side, and my cheek feels as if tiny needles are being shoved into every pore of my skin. Tim gives me another chance to tell him what he wants to know. When I remain wordless for a third time, he tries to do it again, but I sidestep him. Tim bristles. Sarah doesn’t seem to know what to do, how to feel. She can’t watch, but she does.

“Answer me!” Tim thunders.

I smile up at him. “No.”

Now Sarah looks truly frightened. Where is Fear? She opens her mouth to intervene, but before she can, Tim laughs. It’s so unexpected, she stares at him. I just keep smiling. Tim laughs and laughs.

“You’re a demon,” Tim tells me, shaking his head. “You’re no child of mine. I want you out of this house.” His face is redder than I’ve ever seen it, and now veins stick out everywhere. He’s not angry, exactly—Anger is nowhere to be seen—but this is who he is. Even without the Emotion. Tim lifts his hand again—

Even I don’t anticipate Sarah stepping forward, resting her fingers on his shoulder gently. Tim’s hand lowers, and he turns to look at her.

“You can’t kick her out,” she says timidly. He’s listening to her; he’s forgotten about me for the moment. Sarah swallows. “What would people say? We could get in trouble.”

Tim thinks. A minute goes by, and slowly, all those veins and redness fade until he’s normal again. The hand that was about to strike me inches up, twines with Sarah’s. She flinches, but Tim doesn’t see it. He’s pursing his lips at me, squinting.

Finally, he points at me rather than trying to hit me again. There’s earth under his fingernails. “You will do your chores every morning, you will go to school, and you will come right back here,” he says through his teeth, nostrils flaring. He shifts his glare to the place just over my head as he talks. He can’t even stand the sight of me. “You’ll do the afternoon chores, you’ll do your mother’s work, you’ll do your homework, and then you’ll go to bed.” Abruptly, Tim releases his hold on Sarah and storms out of the kitchen. Glancing at me with another anxious expression, she moves to follow.

I raise my voice to stop Tim. “Am I allowed to go to Maggie’s funeral tomorrow?” Copying him, I ask it without looking at his face, instead studying that wall like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. The right side of my face is on fire and the yellow flowers on the wallpaper consume me.

My father pauses. “It would look bad if we didn’t go,” he snaps as an answer.

As if that’s all that matters.



She lies there in the casket, her face small, white, still.

“Maggie spent her life always thinking about others,” Pastor Mike says. He’s the only pastor in Edson. He holds his Bible lightly, looking down at the body with a pasted-on expression of regret. This man didn’t know Maggie. His words are hollow, automatic. He’s probably thinking about what’s going to be on TV tonight. “She would go out of her way to reach those who were in need.”

Tim and Sarah stand behind me, as does a small portion of the town, including Joshua. He’s been ignoring me so far. At my side are Maggie’s parents, both drawn and gray.