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She pressed her lips together and studied his face, searching for any hint of neglect but finding—thankfully—only telltale creases of age beside his mouth and below his eyes. He hadn’t changed much. She’d mailed a birthday card five months ago. He’d turned thirty.
A deep ache spread through her as she pressed her palms and forehead to the screen. “It’s good to see you, Mackey. I missed you.”
A blush bloomed along his neck. “Missed you, too.”
Kit smiled, the tight coil of her muscles easing slightly. “Are you . . . are you doing okay?”
He nodded, his gaze drifting over her hair, clothes, and shoes, then settling on the overnight bag on the step below her.
“Dad called me,” she said. “So I packed a bag and came home. Where is he?”
Mackey jabbed the spoon in the air, pointing toward the left side of the house. “Napping. He was very, very tired.” He looked away, moisture glistening along his lashes. “That’s what he said—very, very tired. I’m making him dog cheese. For when he gets up. He’ll be hungry.”
Kit’s smile faded. “How long has he been sleeping?”
Mackey frowned. Rubbed his forehead. “Since last night.”
“I need to talk to him. And I need to see Viv. Will you please let me in, Mackey?”
He shook his head, his expression contorting, as he stepped toward, then away from the screen door. “Viv said no. She said you don’t live here no more. I’m not supposed to let you in.”
Kit closed her eyes briefly. “How is Viv? Is she here?”
“No.” He jabbed the spoon to the right, toward the music and laughter echoing in the distance. “She at Beau’s.”
“It’s okay to let me in, Mackey. Will you please open the door?”
“I don’t want to.” Accusation entered his eyes. “You left us. You left Mama.”
Kit rattled the locked doorknob once more, then sighed. “Okay. Did Dad—did Dad talk to you? Or Viv? Have they told you anything about Ma—”
A cry burst from Mackey’s lips, and the spoon clattered to the porch floor. “No!” He clapped his palms to his ears and paced. “Don’t say it. Don’t say it!”
Kit pressed closer to the screen, and the tang of metal hit her lips as she whispered, “Okay. I’m sorry, Mackey. I’m so sorry.” Chest burning, she forced herself to pull away from the screen and go back down the steps. “It’s okay,” she said softly, blinking hard. “You go back to what you were doing, all right?”
He stopped pacing and looked at her, his expression crumpling. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Kit forced a smile. “I’m not crying. You didn’t do anything wrong. Mackey, I’m just gonna go for a walk, okay? It’s good of you to take care of Dad,” she said. “I’m sorry I interrupted you. You go back to making him something to eat, okay?”
Mackey stared at her until she reached the bottom of the steps, his expression clearing as she continued smiling. Then he slowly went back inside and closed the door.
Kit walked around to the back of the house, ascended the steps, and walked along the wraparound porch. She stopped when she reached Royal’s bedroom window. The white lace curtains—tinged with yellow—were pulled aside, and a lamp, turned low, cast a soft glow over Royal’s tall form lying supine on the bed. One arm rested over his forehead, and his eyes were closed. A bamboo urn rested on a nightstand by the bed.
“Dad?” She rose on her toes and tapped on the window. “Dad, are you okay?”
He stirred, his arm inching higher up his brow, then slowly opened his eyes to narrow slits as he focused on the window. Stubble lined his jaw, his cheeks were pale, and his eyelids red and swollen.
Her lips trembled. “Will you let me in, please?”
A dazed look crossed his face as he focused on her features. “Go ’way, Viv.”
He rolled over, presenting his back to the window, and an empty whiskey bottle rolled across the mattress, hit the scuffed hardwood floor, and shattered.
“It’s Kit, Dad.” Her throat ached. “The locks have been changed, and my key doesn’t work. I came home as soon as I could to—” She cleared her throat and rose higher on her toes, pain pinching her calf muscles. “Please, Dad. Please let me in.”
She called to him twice more, staring at his still bulk. Laughter rang out in the distance, and the throb of festive music increased. A knot of dark energy twisted tighter and tighter within her until her entire frame trembled.
Kit shoved off the window, left the porch, and stalked across the front yard onto the dirt road. She stopped once—by the vandalized mailbox—just long enough to snatch the metal bat off the ground in a white-knuckled grip.
