Sticks and Stones by Angèle Gougeon

soon as she’d gotten inside. Careful to stare out her side of the truck, a blur of landscape and houses through her window, Sandra choked off the words she wanted to say. Jack wouldn’t want to hear it.
    She was quiet all the way to the house, all the way to the shallow stoop and up inside. The world had gotten dark, long shadows stretched into the rooms and hallway, painting them blue and purple-gray. Her stomach felt achingly empty, but the thought of food turned it, that sweet taste back in her throat, and Jack must have felt the same because he went stomping toward his door.
    “Jack,” she tried.
    He froze in the dark hallway, vibrating bad energy, a moment away from snapping, and Sandra hadn’t been afraid of him like this in years. “Don’t,” he said, voice shuddering, and disappeared into his own room. The door closed fast and Sandra blinked at the glaring silence that was left behind.
    She couldn’t hear Jack moving around.
    She thought about following him in, just pushing her way inside and making Jack look at her, tell him she understood, tell him she was trying, she had seen and Danny was going to be perfectly alright, she’d felt it, the doctor was calm and… Jack would do something he’d regret if she did. She wasn’t Danny. She couldn’t let him hit her, scuffle around on the ground and have everything be alright again.
    It tore at her.
    Jack had never been this mad at her before.
    It had been long coming. For both boys. For Lem too. She hadn’t been trying, and she’d promised. She hadn’t fixed her problems with her visions. She’d just run away. And she’d lied.
    She had been lying for a very long time.
    She had a feeling she hadn’t been as sneaky as she’d thought she’d been.
    Jack hadn’t pressed her because he’d believed she would work it through – a whole year and a half and he’d still had faith in her.
    And then Danny got a hole in his side.
    The dark shadows of the house were stark and deep and, if Sandra stared too hard, they drew her in, drew her forward and down, down . The images and voices and cries lay just outside of her. They had so much to say, so much lost time to make up for.
    Jack wasn’t there to hold her up.
    Sandra went to her room, let the door click shut. The shadows turned the room into a cave. Three steps to the bed and Sandra laid herself down. Her head pounded and the black soared. She let her eyes close and let herself fall.
    Go deeper .
    ~
    Sandra fixed eggs for breakfast.
    There was bacon in the freezer and she made that, too. She could make a cold sandwich to bring to Lem later. Each move was precise and Sandra didn’t dare put too much thought into any step she took. She felt odd. Not fragile. Not hurt like before, either. She felt sort of empty. And full. Completely filled to the brim.
    Feeling like she was moving in slow motion, Sandra crossed the narrow kitchen aisle, pulled a whisk out, and broke the eggs apart, quickly, before they cooked solid.
    Toast. Slip the bread into the toaster.
    Steps in the hall and Sandra didn’t turn. She could hear Jack stop at the entranceway. He didn’t say a word and that was okay. Sandra couldn’t say a word either. Her head was too full. Her lips were silent. There was this voice and that voice and a million voices all trapped inside.
    They weren’t meant to get out.
    They just wanted to be heard.
    Sandra felt connected, and she swirled away from the fall of Jack’s heavy eyes. Jam out from the fridge. Eggs done. Bacon, too. Maybe a little too cold now. Get the knives and forks out. Plates on the table.
    Jack moved in, still uncertain and he looked at her from beneath his hair and his blond lashes. He sat without having to speak, which was nice. Sandra plopped the plate full of toast in front him.
    It was hard to sit down and stay still.
    The earth turned beneath her.
    There were wet, wide seas and green, wide plains and hot, dry deserts and moist, humid forests.
    The air was bright. Alive.
    She