Follow the Firefly: Terry's Garden, #3

By Jill Penrod

Finn: I'm not broken. Yes, I lost my mom. Yes, my dad and brother have some issues. But I'm good—athletic, popular, okay in school. My brother is the broken one. The one who thinks it's me is my best friend's sister. She's always looking at me, and because she's the smartest kid in school—even though she's a year younger than everyone there—she seems to see me. Truth? She scares me. I know I'm not a good person. I carry darkness that would kill my brother if he knew. But Piper—she might know. She's just that smart. I hope she never tells anyone what I'm really like.

 

Piper: Finn Jansen is broken. I don't know why nobody else sees that. The guy is sinking fast, and not one soul cares. He tells them he's fine, and all his fans believe him.  But then, what do I know? I'm terrible at making friends. I'm too young, too smart, and not very brave. Mostly I watch him and pray for him and hope he's okay.

 

But he isn't okay. He's going down a path that can only end in disaster. It's scary what God has planned to rescue Finn's life and his heart. And the role I get to play? Well, this time God isn't playing fair. Except maybe it has to be this way. The wall around Finn's heart and the lies he believes about himself—it will take a miracle to get through. I just hope both of us are strong enough to survive it.

 

Terry's Garden, stories about a huge family, an enchanting garden, and a love story that touches generations. Christian coming-of-age/romance novels for teens and anyone who remembers what it's like to take those first wobbling steps into adulthood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jill Penrod
• Release date: May 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386347231

Jill Penrod

Jill Penrod wrote her first novel in high school. It was a space opera (she watched Star Wars A LOT), and it was not great literature. But she persevered, graduating college with top honors in writing. Since then, she’s published more than thirty novels. She writes in several  genres including Christian teen romance, sweet romance, Christian fantasy stories, and non-fiction. None of them are space operas. Jill lives in Kentucky with her husband and youngest son. She has three adult children out there doing adult things like work and marriage. When she isn’t writing, she gardens and spoils her long-haired Chihuahua Sparrow, along with a few other cats and dogs. Recently she fulfilled her dream of moving to the country, although it has yet to be seen if this city mouse can become a country mouse or not.  

Book preview

Chapter One

FINN

I have trouble telling my story. It starts with a tragedy. Who wants to hear a story that starts with a tragedy? I have memories from before the tragedy, since it happened when I was nine, but they don’t seem relevant. No matter how I try to tell it, the truth is my story started when I was nine years old, and it started with the worst event of my life. For years after that, every other piece of my story hinged on that one thing, that single moment.  I can still close my eyes and see it. I can still feel it and smell it and even taste it on my tongue, but I don’t tell those parts. I only told those parts to one person one time, and my mouth will never speak the words again, but that untold part, that horrible moment, that was the stuff that made me the Finn Jansen everyone knows today.

However, I tell it much more simply. My story, if you have to know, begins with a death. One day, when I got home from school, I got to the house before my older brother Leo, and I found my mother. She was dead.

I know. It’s depressing. Who wants to hear a depressing story about some kid? Well, stick with it, because it’s not always depressing, and it’s not just my story. It’s a story that started years before I was born, one with romance, struggles, and a whole lot of gardening. And my story is simply another tale about how love, struggles, and gardens can fix and heal even the most stubborn of souls.

Mom died just before Christmas. My brother Leo, who is a year older than me but seems ancient sometimes, and my dad and I spent that Christmas crying. Dad was the sheriff, and the rest of the sheriff’s office made sure we had a tree and gifts and tried to make it like a normal Christmas, which of course didn’t happen. It was almost a relief when school rolled around again. People acted stupid around me, mostly pretending nothing had happened or simply not talking to me at all, but at least it got me out of that house. I couldn’t stand to be there where it had happened.

Sometime in January, right after we got home from school, someone knocked on the door, and Leo opened it, and for a minute I barely understood what I was seeing, because the people on the other side of the door weren’t part of our lives any more. For a couple years they’d lived across the street, a big, wild family that took up three whole houses. But then the family in the middle had moved for a couple years, the family with the kids, and they weren’t supposed to be back yet.

Leo kind of froze. Meg Kenton was Leo’s age, and she had been his best friend, and she was standing in the doorway when she was supposed to be in Arizona, a million miles away. And Meg’s dad, a guy who asked us to call him Gus, although his name was Mr. Terry Kenton, was with her, leaning on his cane. He’d been hurt being born, and he walked funny with a cane.

Leo talked to them a minute, and it turned out they were here just because they heard about my mom. Leo had written them a letter. They came inside, and Mr. Kenton sat on the sofa with me while Leo and Meg talked.

Mom’s death was a big turning point in my life. The Kenton family was also important and would gain in importance for a long time. So, this event was significant. It was one of the big three, I like to say. In a span of three months, God set me on a path that would change my whole life, and it was ushered in by three events, one tragic and two little ones that barely registered.

I’m sorry, Finn, Mr. Kenton said to me. He was a strange guy. He had five kids, and he had six younger sisters, so he knew how to talk to younger people. He believed in God, and he was so nice he was scary. He had eyes that said he understood, even though he’d never lost his mother. She lived across the street with his dad. Yep, when Meg had lived here, she’d lived next to her grandparents. Actually, between them, since her other grandmother lived on the other side. And in a year and a half, she would live between them again. Lucky her. How are you doing?

I’m okay, I said. I’d said that a lot recently. It was a total lie. Mr. Kenton grinned with sad eyes. He knew it was a total lie.

I bet you’re not.

He pulled me close. I was almost in his lap, and he put his arm around me, and before I knew what was happening, I was crying. He just held on. He said a few things, but those didn’t matter. What mattered was he knew I was lying and he held on.

That evening he took Leo, Dad, and me to dinner, and the next day he moved his piano from his house to our house. Mr. Kenton had gotten a piano for his kids, but they hated it. Leo loved it. So, since nobody was using it across the street in his empty house, Mr. Kenton moved it to our house. Leo was in heaven. I didn’t really like to listen to it, so I wasn’t in heaven, but it was okay. I was glad Leo was happy. For a lot of my life people didn’t believe it, but I really did want Leo happy. And for a lot of years, that wasn’t going to happen. At that moment, though, with Meg here and the piano moving in and only eighteen months until the Kentons came home, he was really happy.

A few more weeks passed. I had the worst nightmares of my life, all about Mom. You see, she hadn’t just died. She’d quit. That was how I thought of it. She’d been sad forever, as long as I could remember. She didn’t leave the house, some days didn’t leave her room. And then she quit, maybe because she didn’t love us very much. And in the nightmares, I got to see it over and over, and it didn’t just make me sad. It made me angry, too.

I didn’t tell anyone, though. Leo shared my room, so he knew a little bit, and I told him I had nightmares. I didn’t tell him anything else. I didn’t talk about it in school, because still nobody knew what to say. It was like they were afraid if they talked to me, their mothers would die, too. And I didn’t care whether or not they talked to me for a while. I didn’t care about much of anything.

That was when the third event happened. Like the second, I didn’t really get it, but it was a beginning. It started on a Wednesday morning. Mrs. Allen, my teacher, stood in front of the class that day with a girl beside her. She was okay for a girl. She looked a little funny, because she wore a long skirt with tons of colors, so much it almost hurt to look at it. Her hair was frizzy and brown and tamed just a little bit with two clips on the side of her head. She smiled at us, and pretty much nobody smiled back, because this was school, and it was clear she was a new girl, and we didn’t know if we wanted to smile at her yet or not. Everyone was curious, though, because we didn’t get many new girls. And most of them weren’t so bright and smiley.

This is Saffron Johnson, Mrs. Allen said. She just moved to town. Saffron, do you want to say something about yourself?

Usually new kids said no and slunk to their desks, but Saffron looked around with a huge smile and nodded. I’m Saffron. My dad grew up in this town, and now he’s come back. I have a sister and a brother, and I like to read.

She nodded to finish her story, and then she walked to her desk and plunked down like she owned the room. I couldn’t help but smile, because I could already see Henrietta and Lacy, the important girls in class, giving her the stink eye. Saffron was too friendly, and they didn’t trust that. Girls. They were all crazy.

I didn’t introduce myself to Saffron or anything. Why would I? But for a few days I noticed her, because that was what she wanted, I figured. She was smart and answered a lot of Mrs. Allen’s questions. She was kind of loud, and she had this laugh that made a person want to smile. On the playground she liked to swing, and her bright skirts would flow back and forth. Nobody else dressed like her. So yeah, I noticed her. And then on the fourth day I realized she noticed me. She grabbed my hand on the playground, and before I could pull away, she led me to the swings and pointed to a swing. For some reason I sat down, and she sat beside me.

So, you don’t smile, she said. And they whisper about you like you don’t even exist. What’s up with that? I mean, you’re one of the pretty people, and that’s not how people treat the pretty people.

I blinked. What? I’m what?

Oh, come on. You know what I mean. Henrietta and Lacy are pretty people, and they matter around here. And then John and Mark. They are, too. And you have the look of a pretty person, but they all tiptoe around like you’re going to explode. Like you’re dynamite. Are you dynamite?

I had no idea what to say. I’d never met a person this bold in my whole life. I thought Meg and her family was kind of in-your-face sometimes, but they didn’t hold a candle to this girl.

I’m fine.

"Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere. So what happened? Because I’m fine is another way of saying Leave me alone to suffer in peace."

I had to laugh. Really, what else could I do? This girl was something else.

Let me guess, she continued. You’re dyslexic. You’re being bullied. Food allergies, and you used to love peanut butter sandwiches.

Her face fell, and I wondered what she saw. When she said all that I felt it like a kick, that what had happened in my life was big and strange and not the normal problem of a kid my age. I’d kill for allergies or dyslexia. I hated that I was so different. I hated that my friends didn’t even talk to me any more because they didn’t know what to say.

Oh, she said. She put her hand on my arm. I wished I could feel it, that her skin had been on my skin. I didn’t know why, but that was what I wanted. This was February, though, and we wore heavy coats. Oh, Finn. I’m sorry. It’s something bad, isn’t it? I didn’t mean to tease. I didn’t mean to make you look like that.

I nodded. Um, it’s big. My mom died.

She gasped, but she didn’t take her hand off my arm. When?

Just before Christmas. And I, um... I didn’t say it. 

I didn’t mean to make you upset, she said. I’ll stop talking now.

It’s okay, I said quietly. Nobody wants to talk about her. It’s like they want her never to be in the first place. Dad and my brother Leo and everyone. But she was here, and she was my mom, and now she’s gone. And...

And? She said it and then put her hand over her mouth, and I liked that. She got it. She knew this conversation had pitfalls, and she cared about knocking me into them.

And I found her, Finn said. After school. I walked in, and there she was. But she was gone, too.

Oh. That sounds... She shook her head, her eyes wide. It sounds horrible.

Yeah. Most people won’t let me say it. But yeah, it was horrible. And I dream about it, and it’s really hard. And I’m glad you let me tell you.

She squeezed my arm through the jacket. I’m glad you did. Does this mean we can be friends?

I shrugged. I guess so.

Not easy to make friends here. Henrietta and Lacy decided I wasn’t the right kind of person, and the girls all follow their lead.

I cringed. I didn’t like that pair, either. Nobody really did. Even their friends were only friendly because they were afraid of them.

You can be my friend, I said. But remember, nobody’s talking to me right now, either, so I might not be worth it.

She gave me a long look. It was a strange look and made me feel good and uncomfortable at the same time. I think you are. I’m pretty sure you’re the reason I’m here. I didn’t want to move, but Mom and Dad said there was a reason. Things happen for a reason. Maybe you’re it.

I don’t think I was the reason Saffron Johnson came back to her dad’s hometown. She was here for a whole lot of reasons. But I was definitely one of the reasons her family came back, and I’ve thanked God a zillion times for that. Someday the Kentons and the Johnsons were going to save my life, and then they were going to fill it to bursting with wonderful things.

Someday.

IN APRIL, SAFFRON ASKED me to come celebrate her birthday with her family. Dad said I could go, and he drove me to her house and dropped me off. I thought Saffron would have a big party, but she said she hadn’t made many friends, and it was easier just to spend the day with people she really wanted to be with.

Her house wasn’t big, smaller than ours, on a street where all the houses were small.  Dad looked around and nodded.

Three o-clock?

Yeah, Dad, I said. This was awful to say, but Dad was happier with Mom gone. He’d never known what to do when she was sick and wouldn’t come out of her room. He missed her and cried sometimes, but still, he was happier now. Leo wasn’t. He was in the car, too, because Dad was taking him to a piano lesson after dropping me off, and he just frowned. He was almost never happy. But he and Dad didn’t get along, either, and I didn’t know why. It was bad having Mom gone, and I didn’t know why they wanted to make it worse by fighting.

I knocked on the door, and the lady who answered had to be Saffron’s mom. She looked like Saffron, with frizzy hair and a long, colorful skirt. She even had Saffron’s smile.

Ah, Finn Jansen, she said. I’m Mrs. Johnson. Saffron has told me about you. Sorry about your loss, Finn. But I’m glad you’ve become Saffron’s friend. Come on in.

I walked inside and looked around. Saffron had told me her mom was a minimalist hippie, which meant they didn’t have a lot of stuff, and her mom liked natural things and organic food and recycling. I hadn’t realized the extent of that until I walked into the house and found it mostly empty. A few pieces of furniture, but few decorations, no shelves, not much of anything. And lots of white. That seemed funny, since both Saffron and her mom were dressed head to toe in wild colors.

Mrs. Johnson led me to the kitchen, and I had to laugh. Again, the counters were clear, but the cabinets had been painted in lots of colors with swirls and spirals and stripes. A cake sat in the middle of the kitchen table, and I realized suddenly that I hadn’t brought a gift. For so long birthdays had meant nothing in my house, since Mom didn’t get up and Dad had spent his evenings with his beers, and I’d forgotten how regular people celebrated birthdays. I felt terrible.

I, um, didn’t bring a gift, I said. I wanted to crawl under the table and hide.

Not a problem. You might see that we’re not too enamored with stuff in this house. We didn’t get gifts, either. Instead, you brought yourself to celebrate with us, and that’s the best gift of all. Now, let me go see if Saffron is ready.

I sat in a kitchen chair to wait, and two kids appeared at the door. I hadn’t met them, but I knew who they were. The girl was Piper. She was one year behind Saffron and me, but she was small. Saffron was tall, but Piper wasn’t. She had short hair and big eyes, like an anime drawing. She wore a long skirt like her mom and Saffron, but hers was just one color, a turquoise blue that made her blue eyes show up. She was pale with blond hair, and she looked a little scared. Saffron smiled all the time, but Piper looked serious.

Then the boy was a couple years younger, and his name was Vesper. He wore pants that didn’t look like jeans, and a shirt with buttons, and he had short hair and a big smile. He looked a lot like Saffron.

Hey, I said to them. Vesper came in and sat down. Meg had a younger brother Neville, and Vesper was his age, six.

We get cake, he said. I like cake.

I’m Finn, Finn said, and Vesper laughed.

I know. That’s Piper. She doesn’t talk.

Hey, Piper said. Then she closed her mouth. A moment later she nodded and spoke again. I talk. Just not as much as everyone else. You’re Saffron’s friend?

I am. Piper went to our school, but we never really saw the third graders, so I’d never seen her.

Your mom died? Vesper asked.

Vesper, Piper scolded.

It’s okay, I said. It’s okay to say it. Most people won’t say it. But she was real. And she was here.

Did she die in your house? Piper asked, moving one step closer, now through the kitchen door.

She did.

Did you move? Dad said he would have to move if that happened to him.

We didn’t move, I said. I wish we would. But Dad says he can’t do that. It’s election year, and that takes his time. He’s the sheriff.

Still, Piper said. She moved close and put her warm hand on my arm. She had small fingers. I’m sorry, Finn. I’m glad I don’t really understand, but I’m sorry.

I had to smile at that. Nobody had ever said it that way. For a good month now nobody had said anything about it at all, and that was hard.

I don’t want to forget. Leo and Dad won’t talk about her, and I can’t remember it all. She’s fading. She’s leaving again, and I hate that. I can’t hear her voice now. And I remember her in bed, a lump in the dark, even though I know she baked cookies and sang in the kitchen sometimes. But she’s fading.

Piper blinked, tears in her eyes, and I felt terrible. Maybe it was best if I never talked about it. But still, it scared me that Mom was fading.

You have pictures?

Not many.

I would look at pictures all the time. Maybe I’ll take more pictures of my family. In case.

Most moms don’t die. Or dads, I said. I knew kids got scared when they knew my mom died.

I know. Dad says God watches everything. Nothing is in the wrong time. But it feels like your mom should be here. It doesn’t feel like the right time.

I didn’t mind her talking about God. The Kenton family across the street had done the same thing. Leo had been friends with Meg, and I’d been friends with Quentin, her brother. He was my age, and he was smart, and he talked about God. It seemed to make people happier to talk about God. They seemed to feel safer.

I miss her, I said.

That’s sad, Vesper said. He looked at his sister. Will Mom die?

No, Piper said. She’s fine, Vesper. So is Dad. Go see if Saffron is ready.

He dashed off, and Piper sat in his chair.

I didn’t mean to scare him. That’s why I don’t talk about her, I guess. People get sad or scared. I just want to remember, not make people scared. Saffron doesn’t get scared. She lets me talk.

Piper rolled her eyes. Does she really? I thought she never stopped talking herself. But she doesn’t get scared.

I had to laugh at that. It was true that Saffron liked to talk all the time, but she listened, too. Sometimes. And she’d never made me feel bad for talking about Mom. Everyone else had.

Eventually everyone showed up, and we had a birthday party. I didn’t remember going to a birthday party before. Mom would never take me, since she was always sad and scared and didn’t leave the house. And Dad was the sheriff and was always too busy to take me if anyone invited me. And then people stopped inviting me, since they knew I wouldn’t show up.

We sang to Saffron, and she blew out candles, and we ate cake. Then Saffron took me to her room and showed me her things. She didn’t have much. Her bedspread had lots of color, and she told me she’d dyed it herself. She didn’t have too many toys or anything, just clothes and books. She had a whole shelf of books.

We went back to the living room, and I realized she didn’t have a TV. That was strange. Right now, we watched a lot of TV at our house. When Dad came home, we all watched movies. Somehow, the world felt right then. We escaped into the movies and didn’t have to think about anything. Poor Saffron had to think about life all the time, I thought. But maybe that was why she read so many books.

Tell us a little about yourself, Mr. Johnson said after a while, when we were back in the kitchen snacking on cheese and crackers. Where do you live?

On Maple, I said. Across from the big tower house.

Mr. Johnson’s eyes widened. Bud’s house. Um, he left that to a good friend of mine.

I blinked. Mr. Kenton. He’s your friend?

We managed the baseball team in high school. Yeah, we grew up together. Is he still over there?

Not right now. He’s gone for two years. We played with Meg and Quentin. They’re his kids. He comes back in eighteen months.

I only knew that because Leo told me every day. I missed Quen, but nothing like Leo missed Meg.

Wow. Mr. Johnson laughed. That’s great. Can’t wait to see Terry Kenton again. And Molly. Everyone knew Molly should marry Terry except for Molly herself. Quite the high school dramas.

Mrs. Johnson stood behind Mr. Johnson and ran her hand down his back, and he turned and pulled her close.

How about you? she asked. Any great romantic dramas in your high school life?

A few, Mr. Johnson said. But then I got lucky and met the love of my life.

Mrs. Johnson smiled, and Saffron gagged and laughed and dragged me out of the kitchen.

Now they’ll kiss, she said. They’re kind of embarrassing.

Mr. and Mrs. Kenton are the same way, I said. We sat down in the living room, where Piper was sitting with a book. She looked up at me with her giant eyes.

But not your parents? Saffron asked. I glanced over at Piper, who watched me carefully.

Um, no, I said. I don’t remember them like that. Leo says they liked each other once, but I never saw that. Mom didn’t try. She didn’t get dressed or clean the house much. She stayed in bed. How could he love her if she just stayed in bed?

Was she sick? Piper asked, setting aside the book and fixing me with her anime eyes. If she was sick, it’s not her fault.

When she got up, she didn’t look sick. Leo says she was sick in her head, but I don’t know what that means. She got up and then ran away when people came to the door. She wouldn’t go outside, but it’s not like the sun burned her or anything. She just didn’t want to do anything. And it made Dad angry, so he drank too many beers.

I stopped, because I almost said it was easier without her. That was what Dad thought. And I missed her, and I wanted her alive, but I wanted her alive and out of bed. I felt a lot of strange things about my mom, and it confused me.

I’m sorry, Saffron said. She said that a lot. Then she changed the subject, and we played board games. She liked to distract me when I got upset about Mom. Piper went back to her book, but sometimes I found her looking at me. She was only eight, but she was kind of scary for eight. Her eyes were old, and it was creepy.

Kind of strange how my view of those ancient, creepy eyes would change through the years.

Chapter Two

I’M SORRY, I SAID. Yesterday Leo had gotten bad news, and I hadn’t made him feel better. Meg was supposed to come back this summer. Leo had talked about it all the time. Meg and her family had three houses across the street, and all three of the yards were one giant garden. Even while the Kentons had been gone, Leo and I went over there all the time to play in the gardens and help the grandparents take care of them. And this summer, Leo had planned to play in the gardens with Meg. Only they were staying in Arizona another year. It was sad, but I didn’t see why Leo was as upset as he was.

Just like an adult, Leo said angrily. Mr. Kenton said he’d be home, but he lied. And Meg is sad, because she doesn’t like moving and changing schools, and we were going to spend the summer in the yards, and Arizona is all dry and ugly, and... He shook his head. I should make dinner. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

Everyone had said that in time things would get better. Mom had been gone a year and a half, though, and it wasn’t better. Dad had started to bring home beers again. Leo was cranky. Nothing was better.

School, I thought. School was better. Saffron was there laughing and smiling and making everyone else laugh and smile. Because of her, people were finally talking to me again. As school got better, home got worse, so I did what I could to stay at school. I was in a play and took two classes taught by teachers at the after-school program.

But I still had to come home sometimes, where Leo and Dad fought and I just remembered Mom, who had once been here even though nobody but me seemed to realize it.

You should forget about Meg, I said. I said it angrily, because Leo and Dad said this to me about Mom. If I would forget, it would be better. But Leo couldn’t forget Meg. It made no sense.

She was coming back, Leo said. Now he was angry. She’s not dead, Finn. It’s not the same.

Whatever, I said. I wanted to help in the kitchen, but Dad said I was too young. That was silly, because Leo had been working in the kitchen since Mom died, when he’d been eleven. I was eleven. But Dad did that, and it made me uncomfortable. He wanted Leo to do everything, and he wanted me to be a little kid and not help out. It wasn’t fair, especially to Leo.

Summer rolled around, and I didn’t see Saffron as much. Dad worked all day, and although sometimes Saff’s mom came to get me so I could play over there, it didn’t happen that often. Saffron had more friends now, and she did things with all of them, so she didn’t see any one person as much.

Dad made Leo take baseball that summer. I was in a soccer league. I loved soccer. Leo didn’t like baseball, but he didn’t really try, either. That made Dad angry, that he took off work early to see the games and Leo didn’t try. Seemed to me Leo was just trying to make Dad angry. But since Meg’s letter had come, Leo was crankier than ever.

One evening we were at a game, Dad and me in the stands, and Leo wasn’t playing well. He never caught the ball and half the time didn’t seem to be paying attention. Dad had a beer in his jacket, and he’d been drinking it and saying mean things from the stands, and the people in charge made us leave. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. If Leo had just tried, I figured it wouldn’t have happened. I hated that everyone stared at us as we had to leave, with Dad saying mean things to Leo all the way home.

That evening, things changed. I’d suspected this change for a while. Dad was angry with Leo a lot, but when he started to yell, Leo had taught me to go to our room. I thought he just didn’t want me to hear them argue. But that night, I discovered it was more. It made me angry with Dad for being a monster and even angry with Leo for hiding it from me. Both of them treated me like a baby, like I was too young and dumb to understand anything. And since I’d missed this until now, maybe they were right.

Dad was yelling at Leo still, and he said something mean about the piano. Leo loved to play. He was good at it, and he spent hours playing. He took lessons and everything. And Dad told Leo he would never be good at piano, and I told Dad that was wrong.

It was a mistake, and I knew it right off. When Dad was drinking, we knew we had to agree. That made things easier. Agree with whatever Dad said, and he would go to his room and sleep, and it would all be okay when he woke up. But Dad had said nothing nice to Leo for hours. Sure, Leo was a screwup on the baseball field, but not at the piano. I knew that. Dad should know that, too.

I saw Dad’s face grow angry the same moment Leo’s face grew fearful.

Run, Leo hissed, and I did. I hated myself for it, but I could feel Leo’s fear, and then it was my fear, too, and I didn’t want to be around Dad’s anger. I ran up to my room and locked the door, sitting on the bed and straining to hear what was going on downstairs.

The sounds surprised me. Crashes, splintering wood, angry yelling, and more crashing. The door slammed, and everything was silent. The silence was unnerving, and I simply sat a moment and hated myself. Something terrible had happened down there, but I was up here hiding. What kind of person did that make me? And yet, I was glad not to be down there. I didn’t want to see or experience terrible things. I wanted to hide with everything I had.

Finally I headed down, and my stomach sank to the vicinity of my knees. The piano was ruined. The keyboard was in