Fifteen. I don’t know when I started, but in every conversation I have with my father I count the words he allows me to speak. Allows. Permits. ‘...ai!’ Leo is in front of me, hands on my arms shaking me. He’s wearing a new expression: terror. ‘Are you okay? Who was that? What did they say?’ He did it again. I swore I’d never feel that numbness again, but my father always draws it out of me. Curling my fingers and toes, I try to come back to myself, hear the world around me, smell the food. I needed a second set of eyes on it, and that meant waiting for Sherri.I pondered that. There really wasn't any rush, was there? Sherri'd said she'd call me in a couple of days, so I could let the letter sit for a while. I could fill the time until then.That night, I buried my nose in a novel, and the next day I threw myself into my work. On the way home, I stopped at the bookstore and snagged another paperback, which I started after dinner. I did a few chores when I got stiff from just sitting. More

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