Mama said, “It’s not like in my day when they sent you away in shame and nuns took your baby. You have choices now. It’s legal to—”
“I’m having Matthew’s baby,” Leni said. She didn’t even know until then that all of this had already gone through her brain and she’d decided.
“You can’t raise a baby alone. Here.”
“You mean with Dad,” Leni said, and there it was: the thing that made this even worse. Leni was carrying a Walker baby. Her father would blow a gasket when he found out.
“I don’t want him anywhere near this baby,” Leni said.
Mama pulled Leni into her arms, held her tightly.
“We will figure this out,” Mama said, stroking her hair. Leni could tell that her mother was crying, and that made her feel even worse.
“What’s this?” Dad said, his voice booming loud.
Mama sprang back, looking guilty. Her cheeks shone with tears, her smile was unsteady. “Ernt!” Mama said. “You’re back.”
Leni shoved the vial into her pocket.
Dad stood by the door, unzipped his insulated coveralls. “How is the kid? Still a vegetable?”
Leni had never felt such hatred. She pushed Mama aside and went to him, saw his surprise as she neared him and said, “I’m pregnant.”
She never saw the hit coming. One minute she was standing there, staring at her father, and the next minute his fist hit her chin so hard she tasted blood. Her head snapped back, she stumbled, lost her balance, crashed into an end table, and fell to the floor. As she landed, she thought, oddly, He’s so fast.
“Ernt, no!” Mama screamed.
Dad unbuckled his belt, pulled it loose, came at Leni.
She tried to get up, but her head was ringing and she was dizzy. Her vision was off.
The first crack of his belt buckle hit her across the cheek, breaking the skin. Leni cried out, tried to scuttle away.
He hit her again.
Mama threw herself at Dad, clawing at his face. He shoved her away and went after Leni again.
He yanked her to her feet, backhanded her across the face. She heard the cartilage crack, pop. Blood gushed from her nose. She staggered back, instinctively protecting her stomach as she fell to her knees.
A gun fired.
Leni heard the loud craaaack and smelled the shot. Glass shattered.
Dad stood there, his legs braced wide, his right hand still curled into a fist. For a second nothing happened; no one moved. Then Dad stumbled forward, toward Leni. Blood pulsed from a wound in his chest, stained his shirt. He looked confused, surprised. “Cora?”
Mama stood behind him, the gun still pointed at him. “Not Leni,” she said, her voice steady. “Not my Leni.”
She shot him again.
TWENTY-FOUR
“He’s dead,” Leni said. Not that there was much doubt. The gun Mama had chosen could kill a bull moose.
Leni realized she was kneeling in a pool of gore. Bits of bone and cartilage looked like maggots in the blood. Ice-cold air swept into the room through the broken window.
Mama dropped the weapon. She moved toward Dad, her eyes wide, her mouth trembling. She scratched nervously at her throat, turned the pale skin red in streaks.
Leni climbed woodenly to her feet and walked into the kitchen. She ought to be thinking, We’re fine, he’s gone, but she felt nothing, not even relief.