Entering Normal by Anne Leclaire Page B

life, would it be too dangerous? How could you be sure you wouldn’t end up killing everyone in the car, including the child you were trying to save?
    The newspaper image of the little boys and their frantic mother plays in her mind. Then Zack’s face flashes in front of her. How far would she go to protect him? What would she risk? Everything, she knows. Certainly her own life. At least that.
    Her hands are shaking by the time she pulls into the driveway. She has trouble with the house key, the door locked after all.
    Inside the quiet is broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. She sets the pastries on the counter, checks the clock. It’s 11:15. She hasn’t been gone for more than half an hour. She heads for the stairs, and halfway up she hears him.
    He is on the floor at the top of the landing, his face puffy from tears.
    She takes the remaining stairs two at a time. Sweet Jesus. She’ll never leave him again. Not for a minute. A second. Never.
    â€œWhat happened? Zack. Sugah? What happened?”
    â€œWhere were you?” he accuses.
    â€œDownstairs,” she says, lying automatically, sinking to the floor by his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
    â€œI called and called.” He gives a shuddering breath that collapses into little ragged hiccups.
    â€œI’m sorry, sugah bun.” She will never, ever leave him alone again.
Ever.
    â€œI fell,” he announces. The twine from the cat’s cradle entangles his feet.
    â€œIt’s okay, Zack. I’m here now.” She tightens her embrace and he yells. It’s the pain yell, not the sad yell.
    â€œWhat is it, Zack?”
    â€œMy arm,” he says. Tears brim.
    â€œLet me see,” she says. In the glow from the downstairs light his arm looks fine, but when she runs her fingers over it, he cries out.
    â€œOkay,” she soothes. “Okay, sugah, I won’t touch it.”
    She carries him to her room, careful not to touch the arm, and settles him in her bed, quiets him with two baby aspirin.
    â€œI’m thirsty,” he whimpers. “I want Tigger.”
    She finds the toy on the floor by his bed, brings it to her room, tucks it in beside him, gets him a glass of Coke.
    Later, when she is sure he won’t waken, she turns on the bedside lamp. His arm
looks
okay. There are no markings. But when she strokes her fingers over his forearm—really barely touching the skin— he whimpers in his sleep.
    Months later, when everything begins to fall apart, she comes to believe it was not leaving New Zion that set the nightmare in motion. Not the string of lies she told, lies as tangled as the web of twine that tripped Zack that night. Not even Ty Miller. These things were just
complications
. The beginning was this night. It was the one grievous error of leaving Zack alone while she went to out to satisfy her hunger.

CHAPTER 9
    ROSE
    AS SOON AS NED DRIVES OFF— EARLIER THAN USUAL since he has a backlog of jobs—Rose gets out the Hoover and starts vacuuming, an unnecessary chore since the house is spotless. All she does every day is housework, over and over, room after room, a mechanical occupation that produces a gleaming house. This past week, she has finished up the fall cleaning: screens taken down, hosed and stacked overhead in the garage; windows washed; curtains laundered and ironed; summer cottons washed and packed away; woodwork scrubbed; kitchen cabinets straightened. This ritual cleaning used to fill her with pleasure, but now she does it mindlessly, without even the dim satisfaction of accomplishment. With just the two of them, the place hardly requires it.
    She scratches the spot on her belly. No question it’s worse this morning. Earlier she checked in the hand mirror and saw a definite ring of red encircling the mole. No use pretending there isn’t
something
going on there, but she is more determined than ever not to let Ned know. If he had a clue, he’d have