Harmony House by Nic Sheff

serpent embossed in gold.
    The sight of the ring makes me feel chilled. I shiver from somewhere very deep inside me. But my dad doesn’t take any notice. He keeps on praying with his eyes closed and his hands clasped together.
    I look at him, then, studying the newly formed lines and creases in his hollowed-out face. I notice that his hair seems to be thinning on top—even more so than yesterday, if that’s possible. And the veins along his temples and cutting down the middle of his forehead are protruding like a tangle of branches beneath his scaly, sallow skin.
    Could it be that my mom’s death is finally catching up with him, I wonder—that he’s finally letting himselffeel it? Or is it what happened last night to me?
    I close my eyes and keep them closed. I can’t stand to look at him anymore.
    Finally, though, he finishes the prayer.
    He gets up and I see now that there are tears running down his face. He turns away from me.
    The sun has risen higher up over the trees and is projecting the littlest bit of warmth in through the glass.
    â€œYou may go now,” he tells me.
    The sun has risen higher up over the trees and is projecting the littlest bit of warmth in through the glass.
    â€œYou may go now,” he tells me.
    I stand, feeling lightheaded. I step out into the hall—the walls collapsing in around me—a slide projector click, clicking in my brain—showing me images as though in sleep, but I am awake now.
    I see the pretty nun. She sits on the grass beneath one of the live oaks in the back of Harmony House with the same little boy that was in her room. He wears blue wool shorts and a white, short-sleeved button-down shirt. He eats bread and cheese and the sister eats an apple. They work together on his catechism lessons. Wasps gather in the branches overhead—the steady droning buzz like an engine revving over and over.
    â€œOkay, is the likeness in the body or the soul?” the young sister asks, putting a hand gently on the boy’s shoulder.
    The boy shakes his head.
    â€œI don’t know,” he says.
    She smiles.
    â€œCome on, yes, you do.”
    The boy shakes his head again, eyes wide and glinting in the hot, bright sun, watching her lovingly—staring. The light casts shadows through the myriad colored leaves. A red-shouldered hawk cries hoarsely and dives down over the tall grass. A gray cat runs out from under the back porch steps and goes chasing after the low-flying bird.
    But the boy remains fixed on the pretty young sister.
    â€œI want to run away from here,” the boy says. “I want you to come with me. I want to run away together.”
    The sister laughs.
    â€œBecause you don’t like your catechism work?”
    â€œBecause I don’t like Sister Angelica. Or monsignor.”
    The sister glances quickly around and tells the boy to hush.
    â€œYou can’t say that,” she says.
    The boy bites on his thumbnail.
    â€œI don’t care,” he says. “I want to go away with you. We could go to the moon together and be happy there.”
    Now the sister laughs again.
    â€œThe moon? How would we live on the moon?”
    â€œWe could grow vegetables,” the boy says, very earnestly. “We could bring a cow . . . and chickens . . . and you could read me stories . . . and I could make a fire at night.”
    â€œThat sounds nice,” the sister says. “Just you and me . . . on the moon.”
    â€œYou won’t ever leave me?” the boy asks.
    The sister hugs him to her.
    â€œNever.”
    She takes a striped rubber ball up from next to the catechism book.
    â€œShould we take a little break?” she asks. “You want to play catch?”
    The boy jumps to his feet happily. She tosses him the ball and he runs down the sloping hill to the edge of the forest. The sister throws him the ball back, but it hits the ground and goes bouncing off at a right angle, disappearing into the