Page 21

"Jenna."

"Don't make me get Mouse."

"Mouse can't make me do anything."

"No," she says, looking past me. "But I can make him try, and it'll be the first entertaining thing that's happened all day."

The sound that moves through the people close enough to hear us isn’t laughter exactly. Just a few weary smiles and the relief of someone remembering how to be normal, if only for a second.

I let her steer me toward the kitchen because fighting her would take more energy than I have, and because Raven loved Jenna, and because there are too many reasons now for every small thing.

The kitchen table is crowded with food.

Too much food.

Foil-covered trays. Plates wrapped in plastic. A slow cooker. Rolls in a basket. Pies. Cookies. Things labeled in careful handwriting so no one has to ask what they are. Grief has turned the Sutter kitchen into a buffet. The sight of it makes my stomach twist.

Raven's chair is empty. It’s the chair near the window, the one she used to tuck one foot beneath herself in even when Jon told her to sit like a human being. The one where she drank coffee with both hands around the mug. The one where she would reach for my hand before I could even sit down.

Someone has set a small framed photo on the table in front of it.

I freeze.

The rest of the room does not. People keep moving around me. Jenna lifts foil from a tray. Mouse says something low to Bishop. A spoon clinks against ceramic. The refrigerator hums. Life continues.

Raven is maybe eight, sitting on the porch steps in muddy boots with one of Knox's hoodies swallowing her whole. Her hair is in two messy braids, and she's missing a front tooth. She's leaning into her mother, who's laughing at something just outside the frame, one hand resting gently on Raven's shoulder. Both of them are smiling at the camera with the easy certainty of people who believe they'll always have each other.

I don’t want to look at it, yet I can’t look away.

Jon comes in behind me. For a second, I think he’ll move the picture. He doesn’t. He stands beside me and looks at it too.

"She stole that hoodie from Knox and wore it for three weeks," he says.

I keep my eyes on the photo.

"He was pissed.” Jon’s mouth pulls faintly, not quite a smile. “When he tried to take it back, she bit him."

A breath moves through the room. This one comes closer to laughter and hurts more because of it.

I imagine it too easily. Raven, small and feral and already completely herself. Knox outraged. Jon trying not to laugh because fathers are supposed to discourage biting even when the victim deserves it.

"Raven always fought like she was bigger than she was," I say.

Jon nods. "She was always trying to keep up with him."

Knox stands in the doorway. His face is turned slightly away. I wonder if he heard. Of course he heard. This house has always carried sound too well.

Jenna sets a plate in front of me at the smaller table near the wall, away from Raven's chair. Chicken. Potatoes. Green beans. A roll with butter melting into the split. It looks like food meant for a person who can still answer to hunger.

I sit, pick up the fork, and take a bite because everyone’s watching.

It tastes like nothing.

My mouth moves.

I swallow.

People relax like I’ve accomplished something.