Night, Forgotten

Original Edition - Chapter 14: Now

I cross the front entryway and peek through the doorway into the kitchen. The Dolans stand stiffly, apart from each other, shrugging their shoulders back into their heavy coats.

With a swing of her elbow, Liza twists a white scarf in a loop around her neck and tucks the cropped ends of her hair beneath it. She still moves like a dancer; even mundane gestures are striking when performed by her lithe, careful limbs.

We haven't seen each other in what feels like ages and we didn't exactly leave it on a friendly note. I've been eager to smooth things over since then, and I'm hopeful she feels the same way.

Then I hear the tone of her voice as I approach the warm light of the kitchen doorway.

"We can't just leave," she whispers to Marcus.

I stop in my tracks. They haven't noticed me yet. I take a step backward into the dark entryway.

Suddenly I feel like an intruder in my own home.

When Marcus responds to his wife, the condescension in his voice causes me to take another step back into the shadows. "What else are we supposed to do, then, Liza?" he hisses at her. "We brought over a meal. Now we're getting the fuck out of this place."

My face burns and a clump of shame catches in my throat. I'm torn now between wanting to disappear back into the parlor, unnoticed, and wanting to speak up on Liza's behalf.

I hate the way he's talking to her, but I don't want to embarrass them.

Liza doesn't seem concerned. "Owen!" She calls out, using a marker to jot something down on a notepad. She glances sideways at Marcus, who rolls his eyes down at her to make sure she sees him do it.

Liza rolls her eyes right back up at him, then tears her completed note from the pad, taking her time. Without breaking eye contact with her husband, she places the note on top of the serving dish that's sitting in the center of our kitchen table.

Whatever meal they've brought over smells like a rotting animal to me, but at least it smells like something; lately, everything I've tried to eat has had the taste and odor of dry wall.

"I labeled and dated the lasagna — make sure you eat it this week!" Liza shouts again, gazing toward the front of the house as if she can't decide whether or not to venture into the parlor. She stands arms akimbo, deliberately turned away from her husband.

Who knows what they're fighting about this time.

According to Liza, their arguments get pretty intense. And I've never seen Marcus look at anyone the way he's looking down at Liza right now.

Like he could hurt her.

His nostrils seethe and his jaw clenches and twitches. His entire face seems to say,

You are so lucky we're not at home right now.

I listen for Owen to approach from the parlor behind me. That will give me away, and then we can go into the kitchen together and Owen will say something silly to dissolve the tension.

But there is only silence from the parlor. Owen must have taken Thomas upstairs or fallen asleep in the rocking chair as soon as he sat down.

Marcus smirks. He grabs Liza's upper arm too tightly and steers her toward the kitchen door.

She hasn't seen the way he's looking at her.

"Liza," I call, but my voice comes out as a rasp. She follows him onto the back porch.

I hesitate in the dark entryway. Liza clearly isn't concerned, so am I overreacting? Is that just the way Marcus's broody face looks sometimes? I should probably mind my own business.

This is, after all, the first time I'll be saying so much as hello to either of them since before Thomas was born. Do I really want to start off by making their fight worse? By accusing Marcus of violence, based on a facial expression?

It's not the best foot to put forward.

Maybe it's dark enough outside now that I can follow them into the backyard without them seeing me. That way I'll be able to make sure Liza is safe without having to start a confrontation.

Just as I make the decision, the door clicks shut behind them.