For Silas, Lichport was only a name, like that of a distant cousin or a dead relative he’d never met. Familiar but abstract.
Ari BerkShe knew what Silas wanted. He wanted her to believe Amos was alive somewhere. Silas wanted help, clinging to his hope. She knew her son. For all her dislike of how much he was like his father, she knew him.
Ari BerkHe could feel her doing that list thing, where she didn’t speak or look at you because she was tallying something in her head. Figuring out how bad you’d messed up.
Ari BerkThe day his dad didn’t come home, it was like a huge window over their heads had shattered, and every day they were walking through the broken pieces. Nothing fit together. Nothing made sense or seemed connected to anything else, and every step hurt. Maybe in Lichport he’d find a missing shard or two that would help him start piecing things back together.
Ari BerkWhat is it about traveling by night that makes even a short journey strange and a little wonderful? Momentary lights appear and pass across the windowpane so fast they burst suddenly into view before becoming patterns of the past, stars that grow ever more distant as they follow their opposite course away from the car as it hurtles on its way through the darkness.
Ari BerkIn that moment, he felt like the illusion that his family had become was held together only by the constellation of patterns left by the furniture feet set on a rug, by the runes formed in the shadows that the chair backs threw on the walls, and that once those things were moved or faded, he wouldn’t know who he was anymore.
Ari BerkShe deeply disliked being so fearful, but had actually grown rather comfortable over the years with disappointing herself. She used to try. Just leave the house by the front door once a day. Then, after a while, she’d try for once a week. Then once a month. Then, Why bother? she thought. Let the world come to me, and I’ll set out a little lunch. What she hated most was that she’d become one of them. Another Lichporter grown self-indulgent and eccentric, the subject of sidewalk gossip: Oh, her, Mrs. Bowe … yes, yes … so sad. She doesn’t leave the house, you know, unless there’s a you-know-what, not unless someone D-I-E-S.
Ari BerkHe could feel his father’s history like ruts worn deep in the road.
Ari BerkHere, in this house, her recollections glowed like embers on the hearth, and each night, in their warmth, she’d take a memory or two down from the shelf and dance with them for a while.
Ari BerkDolores liked that story. Men were wolves and practical women took the knife to them, and those wolves, those sharp-toothed men, they didn’t come back after that.
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