“It’s terrible to lose someone you love.”
“Yes.”
“None of the wanderers died, or their families. How do you explain that?”
A streak of fear shoots upward like a flaming bird, tearing through Vanessa’s throat. “I…don’t know.”
“Your father loves you, doesn’t he?”
“Yes?”
“All those nights in his arms.”
Vanessa looks around, vainly hoping that Mother has returned. “Father’s coming back any time now.”
“No he’s not. He’s at one of those wanderer meetings. Secret, of course.”
“Of course.”
“You like what he does, don’t you?”
“I don’t really know what he does, I mean…”
“You know. I know. Everyone knows.”
“Knows what?”
“I heard some girls try to fight it, but not you.” He is swelling again like he did in the library, blocking the light. Her breath quickens, and she tries to calm herself, putting a hand on her belly.
“I told you, I did try.”
“That you like it.”
“No I don’t. It’s bitter.”
Mr. Adam laughs loudly for a while. “I’m sure it is.”
“I think you should go.”
“Such a pretty girl. I don’t even know if I was going to have a girl.”
“I’m sure you’ll have one later,” she says stupidly.
“It’s why we came here, you know.”
“To have a girl?”
“So to speak.” He smiles crookedly.
“What?”
“I’ve seen you watching me.”
Startled, Vanessa pulls back, crossing her arms over herself.
“Look at you now, in that pretty dress.”
Vanessa looks down to her drab dress, spattered with stains. “Uh…thank you.”
“Why should I have to wait years?”
“For what?”
“You’re used to it already. It’s genius.”
“What’s genius?”
“You. You in that dress.”
He marches up to Vanessa, quicker than she thought he could move for how drunk he smells. He puts a hand on her arm and kneads it painfully. “Such pretty white skin.”
Suddenly Vanessa feels like an animal about to be slaughtered. She moves back a few steps, but he advances until she’s trapped against a wall. “Pretty girl,” he says, and tries to put his mouth on hers. She cringes away, and he smears saliva against her ear.
“Stop, Mr. Adam. You can’t. They—they’ll shame you. They’ll exile you.” She inhales his sour, drunken smell and wishes she didn’t have to breathe. “It’s against the shalt-nots.”
“But why do you care? Why do you care? You get it every night.”
“I don’t. Leave me alone.”
“From your father. Do you know how sick that is?”
For a second Vanessa thinks he’s talking about the illness. Then she’s not sure what he’s talking about. Every girl lies down under her father, even if nobody talks about it. Like picking your nose, or scratching your bottom; it’s not something to be discussed in public, but you know everyone does it in darkness, when nobody else is looking.
His hand is on her, pulling, and it hurts. Taking a deep breath, she ducks down, then darts to the side. Vanessa runs up the creaky stairs with Mr. Adam huffing behind her. “Go away!” she screams as she runs into Mother and Father’s bedroom. “Leave me alone!”
“Why should I? Why shouldn’t I take what I want? He does. My wife is dead. His wife is alive. He takes what he wants.” He grabs at Vanessa’s dress, and she pulls away. The sleeve rips off. She should have run out the front door, she knows now, and curses herself for her stupidity.
“That’s different!” she yells.
“Oh, it’s different.”
“Father loves me! And I love him. And I hate you!” This time it’s a piece of the skirt.
His hands close around her waist, and he’s got her against him with one arm, undoing his pants with the other, heaving his stinking breath into her face. Wriggling, she sinks her teeth deep into his arm until she tastes meat and copper. He roars and lets go.
“Bitch!” he says, dabbing at the welling marks. Vanessa casts her eyes around and sees a rock that Mother brought home a long child-summer ago, black veined with blue. As Mr. Adam comes for her again, she swings it and smashes the window. Grabbing a shard of glass with her palm, she hurtles around and slices at Mr. Adam’s belly.
Blood beads onto his skin, and he stumbles back, looking comically surprised. Vanessa slices him again, and this time the blood pours. He lets out a yell, hoarse and gurgling, and closes his meaty hands around her throat.
Without air, Vanessa desperately thrusts the glass into him and jerks it out, shuddering at the stretch and give of the thick skin that leads to his soft flesh beneath. His hands weaken, and he takes a step back. She is warm and sticky, and he falls heavily to his knees.
Behind him is Father, suddenly there, swinging a length of wood and smashing it into Mr. Adam’s head. He turns to take hold of Vanessa, who slashes and pushes wildly with the shard of glass. “Vanessa. Vanessa. Vanessa!”
She stops. Father’s arms are covered in cuts, and the glass has sliced into her hand so a thick stream of blood spirals down her wrist. “Vanessa,” he says again, pale as paper. He steps forward and unwinds her fingers from the shard one by one, setting it on the floor carefully like it’s alive. The glass is coated with blood and globules of fat. “Vanessa, what happened?”
Mr. Adam is moaning and writhing and holding his head, but Father doesn’t seem to care. As soon as Father lets go, Vanessa snatches for the shard, holds it to her chest with her uninjured hand, and backs against the wall. “Vanessa, he won’t hurt you,” Father says. She sinks down into a crouch, the crimson glass in her slippery grip.
Father stares at her and then turns to Mr. Adam, whose eyelids are fluttering. “He’s got so much fat that I don’t think you hurt him very much,” Father says thoughtfully. This surprises Vanessa, as Mr. Adam is lying in a dark red lake of blood. “Vanessa, you had better leave.”
“What happens now?” she whispers.
“Now he’s exiled. I’m almost glad his wife is dead.” Father kicks Mr. Adam in the ribs, eliciting a groan.
“What if—what if—”
“Nothing more will happen, Vanessa. I promise. It’s over.”