His hand tightens around the bottle.
For one scary second, I think he might grab me.
Then Mama makes a little sound.
Tiny.
Almost nothing.
But I hear it.
“Mama?”
I drop beside her so fast my knees hit the floor really hard.
“Mama, wake up.”
Her head shifts a little, but her eyes don’t open.
Rory watches us.
Something sad crosses his face.
Like he thinks he’s the one being hurt.
“I’ll bring another blanket,” he says.
“Bring a heater.”
“No.”
“Then bring ten blankets.”
He doesn’t answer.
He walks up the stairs instead.
At the top, he pauses.
“You’ll understand someday, Livy.”
He closes the door.
I sit down beside Mama and pull the blanket higher over her hands.
Her fingers are colder than blocks of ice.
I cup some of them in my good hand and try to warm them with my breath the way she does for me when I’m cold.
“It’s okay, Mama,” I whisper. “I know he’s lying.”
My voice shakes.
But I do know.
I think about Mav.
I think about how he looked when I asked if his wife and daughter would be mad if me and Mama became his.
