Daniel lifted my shoulders, his grip digging into my skin.
My head fell back, and the silver beaded bracelet Madison had made for me dragged against the rough stucco of the house wall as he carried me through the back entryway.
“The table,” Patricia said, her voice receding toward the kitchen. “Daniel, you left a mark on the glass.”
“Get the keys, Mother,” he said.
He laid me down on the hallway bench, the wood hard against my lower back.
My ribs burned with a sharp, deep heat every time I tried to draw a breath.
Patricia stood by the front door, a linen dish towel in her hand, rubbing at a small smudge on the glass console table with quick, hard circles.
