“What is wrong with you?”“Not a thing,” she said. Her brother’s phone-call hadn’t been unexpected.“You’re fucking insane.”“Maybe,” she said.“What do youwant from me?”“I want you to behave yourself.”“You’re completely fucking insane.”He woke to find Billy gone, and had a momentary panic, a flashback to the day that Fred had gone missing in the night. But then he found a note on the kitchen table, terse: “Gone out. B.” The handwriting sent him back through the years to the days before Davey came home, the days when they’d been a family, when he’d signed Brad’s report cards and hugged him when he came home with a high-scoring paper.Mimi came down while he was holding the note, staring at the few spare words there. She was draped in her wings.“Where did he go?”“I don’t know,” Alan said. “Out.”“Is this what your family is like?”“Yeah,” Alan said. “This is what they’re like.”“Are you going to go out, too?”“Yeah.”“Fine,” she said. She was angry. She stomped out of the kitchen, and stepped on her own wing, tripping, going over on her face. “Tomorrow, you cut these tomorrow!” she said, and her wings flared open, knocking the light fixtures a-swing and tumbling piles of books. “Tomorrow!” she said.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Not a thing,” she said. Her brother’s phone-call hadn’t been unexpected.
“You’re fucking insane.”
“Maybe,” she said.
“What do youwant from me?”
“I want you to behave yourself.”
“You’re completely fucking insane.”
He woke to find Billy gone, and had a momentary panic, a flashback to the day that Fred had gone missing in the night. But then he found a note on the kitchen table, terse: “Gone out. B.” The handwriting sent him back through the years to the days before Davey came home, the days when they’d been a family, when he’d signed Brad’s report cards and hugged him when he came home with a high-scoring paper.
Mimi came down while he was holding the note, staring at the few spare words there. She was draped in her wings.
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know,” Alan said. “Out.”
“Is this what your family is like?”
“Yeah,” Alan said. “This is what they’re like.”
“Are you going to go out, too?”
“Yeah.”
“Fine,” she said. She was angry. She stomped out of the kitchen, and stepped on her own wing, tripping, going over on her face. “Tomorrow, you cut these tomorrow!” she said, and her wings flared open, knocking the light fixtures a-swing and tumbling piles of books. “Tomorrow!” she said.