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in the crack of the door, the hallway behind her as dark as the bedroom.
    â€œCan Mama come in?”
    Silla nodded and her mother, who was in her nightgown, came and curled up next to her on the bed, resting her head on her daughter’s small stomach.
    â€œSilla, they’re going to try and fix me tomorrow.”
    Silla thought about this for a moment. “Are you broken?”
    She heard her mother’s soft breath. “I think so.”
    â€œWhere?” asked Silla, looking down at her mother’s hair, at her soft body. When things were broken, there were cracks and chips and fissures. Her mother looked perfect.
    â€œI’m scared,” said her mother.
    Silla thought for a moment, twisting her fingers in one of her mother’s curls. “Mrs. Lloyd says to talk to Jesus when you’re scared.”
    Priscilla’s mother pushed up with one hand, then the next, and looked at her daughter. “I don’t want to go,” she said, looking at Silla as if Silla might save her.
    That unnamed fear surged up in Silla’s stomach. “Are you coming back?”
    Her mother nodded. And Silla felt the fear ebb. “Well,” she said, reaching around for the doll that sat next to her on her nightstand. Her father had given it to her for her fourth birthday. She had round eyes with thick lashes, rosebud lips, and bright red hair.
She looks just like you,
he had said.
    â€œTake Suzy,” she said now, looking at the doll for a moment before holding it out for her mother. “She’ll make you feel better.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Blue Pills
    I sat on the cold edge of the tub and turned the water on, waiting for it to run hot before sticking the rubber stopper in the drain hole. It was an old claw-foot, with a green-tinged ring along the high-water line, and the beginnings of rust on the underside that no amount of cleaning would remove. The Nashes wouldn’t be bringing Rosie back until midday, but after a few hours of heavy sleep, I had awoken at the usual time—six thirty a.m. That’s when Rose always came bounding into my room, grasping a fistful of my white sheets and hauling herself onto the bed, her body vibrating with energy.
    When there were a few inches of water at the bottom of the tub, I let my clothes drop to the floor and climbed in. Bracing myself for the shock, I leaned back, feeling the chill of the frigidenameled iron against my skin. It took a moment, but we were soon acclimated to each other, the tub and I. And I let my head nod back and my eyes close.
I pictured Warren’s face from the night before, the way he looked sitting on that hospital bed. And I thought of how Bobby had tended to him, gently assessing his wounds.
    Looking at the dry, pink bar of soap in the dish, I reached for it, submerging it in the water, letting it become slick and quick, ready to slide from my grasp. I lifted my legs out of the water and looked at my long-neglected stubble. Reaching for the razor high up on the windowsill, I set to work. I was through with one leg when the phone rang. With a soapy hand, I grabbed the portable phone that I had placed on the closed toilet seat, in case the Nashes called. It was Maggie.
    â€œHow was your mom’s?” she asked through a yawn. I heard her boys in the background.
    Leaning back against the tub, I let my pink razor drop into the water and float there. Then I told her about Warren.
    â€œJesus,” she said. “Is he going to be all right?”
    â€œYeah,” I said. “I mean, physically, he’s going to be fine.”
    Maggie heard the uncertainty in my voice. “But . . . ,” she said, gently leading me to elaborate.
    â€œBut I guess it doesn’t change that someone beat the shit out of him. If that’s what even happened.” With my free hand, I swished some of the suds out of the way to reveal the clear water beneath. “And we have no idea why.”
    After my bath, I