Uncle Skip asks, grabbing my arm so I can’t get away. “I’m fine,” I say. “Like hell.” He touches my jaw with one finger, turning my face to look at the scratches and bruised cheek. “Your dad seen this?” “Yeah.” I pull free and continue to the front counter. “And?” Uncle Skip asks, following me. “...
Dad’s voice bellows down. All the blood rushes to the top of my head and pounds there, trying to get out. I was in the middle of a dream, a Shauna dream, a good one. “Did you hear me? Get your ass up here!” 7:27 a.m. Shit. I’m gonna be late for work. I skip the shower in favor of breakfast. Takes...