THE QUIET

PROLOGUE ZAC The bruise around Mama’s eye hadn’t even faded yet when we rolled into town that year. “Zac,” she called from the front seat as she slowed the car to turn a corner, which jostled me from my nap. “Zac, baby, wake up. We’re almost there. I need you to comb out your hair and brush the wrinkles from your shirt. ’Kay? We need to look presentable for Mama’s new boss.” I squinted my eyes open, hating the groggy feeling that came with sleeping in a car, and I sat up straighter, stretching my arms above my head before I wiped some drool from the side of my mouth. The road was louder and bumpier here. Peering out the window to see where we were, I saw nothing but a sea full of dead, oatmeal-colored grass. “Don’t it rain here none?” I asked, frowning at just how much of it there was. Fields and fields of tall, dried-out, lifeless grass. I wasn’t sure how dead grass could grow so high, but it’d probably reach my waist if I went wading through it. Maybe they didn’t have lawnmowers in this neck of the world. “What do you mean?” Mama asked, sitting up in her seat so she could meet my curious gaze in the rearview mirror, only to sigh. “And don’t forget that hair…” she reminded me. “It looks like there’s a rat’s nest sitting up on the top of your head.” I frowned, irritated about having to groom myself, and I batted at my scalp a couple of times, only for my gaze to return to all that poor withered grass. “They should water their grass more. It’s all shriveled and dead.” “That’s not grass. That’s wheat, and it’s supposed to look like that this time of year. Soon, farmers are going to harvest it and grind it up into grain, so they can make flour and then all kinds of yummy bread.” My brow furrowed as I listened to her explanation. Then I shook my head, refusing to believe such a crazy tale. “That don’t look like wheat to me,” I declared, certain she was wrong. Miss Patty, who watched me after school and before Mama got home from work, had wheat stuck in a vase on her kitchen table, along with a bunch of other fake flowers. And it didn’t look like dead grass at all. But Mama only laughed. “It would if you got up close and saw it better. Trust me.” I made a face, still leery but no longer bothering to question her. The car paused at another intersection, this one connected to a paved road, and my attention drifted to a sign with two white words on a green background. I focused on the letters of the top word, trying to sound them out. “Bee…uh…U…” “Beaumont,” Mama finally told me when she realized what I was attempting to read. “Beaumont County. That’s going to be our new home. And the town we’ll be living in is called Peril. Don’t you like the sound of that? Peril…” I made another cringy face because, to me, Peril sounded like a warning. Beware, don’t go in there. But Mama seemed okay with it. So I shrugged and decided to call it the dead-grass place in my head since we never stayed anywhere long enough for me to care or remember their real names, anyhow. When Mama turned onto a highway and we started to approach a town, I strained to see more, hoping to spot a familiar fast-food restaurant with maybe a playground attached to it. My legs were itching to move, and I was ready to get out of this car. Plus, I was hungry. “Welcome to Peril, Nebraska,” Mama said, her voice high and cheerful like it got when things were bad but she wanted to pretend they weren’t. Like the last time Boyd had slapped her around. After exhausting his fists on her, he’d passed out, watching sports on the chair in the front room with a beer dangling from his fingers. That’s when we’d packed our bags as quietly as we could and tiptoed past him, right out the front door. Mama had used that same voice then as we’d climbed into the car to leave. She’d said, “Let’s go on an adventure. Doesn’t that sound fun?” A week later, I figured I wasn’t a very adventurous person because right now, I just wanted to stop riding in this car already. We’d been on the road since forever, and I needed to run and play and explore. But mostly, I just needed to get out of this blasted seat belt. But as we passed the first building, my hopes for a McDonald’s or Burger King wavered. The place looked like one of those Western movies Boyd liked to watch. I half expected him to come swaggering from between a pair of saloon doors, wearing a cowboy hat and boots with a gun slung to each hip. Except there were cars parked along the curbs—not a horse in sight—and that stoplight ahead ruined the whole Old-West theme. I couldn’t process it all in my head. Too much ancient was mixed in with too much modern. As Mama slowed the car and pulled into a spot between a tall red truck and a family car, she announced, “We’re going to need to stop by my workplace first and pick up the keys to our new house. Okay?” I didn’t answer because she didn’t expect me to. But as she killed the engine, my stomach tightened with dread. There was just something about the air here… It felt as if the breeze was whispering in my ear, you don’t belong. I shuddered and wiped the chill off my arms. No, I hadn’t wanted to stay with Boyd, but I certainly hadn’t wanted to come to some dead-grass town that didn’t know if it was old or new neither. “Come on, baby. Safety belt off. Out of the car,” Mama encouraged. I sank deeper into my seat. Anxiety mounted. It was time to meet someone new. I hated meeting new people. And what was worse, I knew Mama wanted to impress this guy, since he was going to be her boss. She hadn’t met him before, but I guess a friend of her friend knew a guy who needed a new secretary, and he’d been willing to give Mama the job after only one phone interview. So beggars couldn’t be choosers, Mama had said. In the front seat, she wasn’t moving either, so I didn’t. She was busy applying more makeup around her eye, dabbing at the bruise in the hopes of making it disappear. I could still see it, though, and that cheek was twice as puffy as her other one. If you asked me, she wasn’t fooling no one. But she didn’t ask me what I thought. “Okay, let’s do this,” she announced, cheerful and happy again, as she slipped the bottle back into her purse before slinging the strap over her shoulder. She opened her door and climbed out, then pulled mine open. I hesitated, but she sent me a stern look. “No dawdling, Zac. Not today.” With a groan, I reluctantly jumped down onto the pavement and then winced when pain reverberated up through my sore ribs. Her bruises, you could see. Mine, you could not. Mama took my hand, and we stepped onto the sidewalk together, walking about half a block before she murmured, “Here we go. This is it.” She paused to tug on a door that made a bell gong inside. Then she nudged me in ahead of her, and I shuffled about two feet forward into the chilly office, only to plow to a halt. Thinking that was far enough, I turned to press close to Mama and hid my face in her waist, wrapping my arms around her hips as I did. It smelled old in here. Moldy. I didn’t like it. “It’s okay, honey,” Mama told me in a hushed voice as she set her hand on my hair and smoothed it in calming strokes, just before a man’s voice called, “Be right out,” from another room. I lifted my face cautiously to see a desk. It looked full of important papers and files, but no one was sitting there. A man stepped from the doorway behind the desk, wearing a white button-up shirt that bulged over a pair of dress pants with a green and black diagonally striped tie around his neck. Eating a donut, he paused abruptly and blinked at us as if he hadn’t been expecting to find actual people at the door. Mama cleared her throat. “Uh…Mr. Everett?” she asked. He nodded without speaking. She smiled and shuffled forward, dragging me with her. “Hi,” she greeted, sticking out her hand. “I’m Grace Topper. Your new assistant.” With another blink, he dropped the donut to his side. “You are?” Mama nodded. “Yes, sir.” I kept clinging to her, not about to let go. “Well…” Mr. Everett continued to stand there as he slowly looked her up and down. I shifted around from Mama’s side until I was trembling behind her, hoping he’d stop staring soon because it was weird. But then he finally did, and he smiled into Mama’s eyes. “Brenda Sue said you were real competent on a computer, but she never mentioned just how pretty you were.” “Oh…” Mama pressed a surprised hand to her chest, and I could hear the blush in her voice when she added, “Thank you, Mr. Everett. I—” “No, call me Jude,” he broke in, smiling even wider. “It’s just Jude.” “Jude,” she murmured, corralling me back around until I was standing at her side again. Then she set her hand on my back. “Er… This is my son, Zac.” She tried to coax me to look up so I could face the man fully, but I wouldn’t budge. “Hey there, Zac.” Mr. Everett bent slightly and tried to give me one of those smiles that nurses gave you right before they delivered a shot. I didn’t trust it. “How old are you, son?” I narrowed my eyes and burrowed harder against my mother. Mama started stroking my hair again. “He’s seven,” she answered for me. “And he should be ready for the second grade when classes start back in the fall.” “Second grade, huh?” Mr. Everett murmured, nodding as he looked me over. He paused the moment he got to my knuckles, though. They were still swollen and cut from hitting Boyd. It’d been the first time I’d ever gone after him. But he’d mistreated my mother one too many times, and I was done with it. In return, Boyd had kicked me with the steel tip of his work boot, and that’s why my ribs felt as if a band of pure barbed wire was wrapped around them. Every time I took a breath…agony. But Mr. Everett must’ve thought it was me who’d hit Mama because his gaze darted up to her puffy eye before it returned to my hand and narrowed with reproach. “Yes, second grade,” Mama blathered on, not paying attention to his condemning scowl. “So we were hoping you had a school not too far from here.” “Hmm?” Mr. Everett tore his gaze from me and lifted it back to Mama. “Oh. Sure, sure. There are three in town, actually. Two private schools: one Catholic and one Lutheran. They both hold classes up to the fifth grade. And then there’s the public school that, of course, goes all the way to twelfth.” “Great.” Mama patted my back encouragingly. “The public school sounds just fine.” “It is,” Mr. Everett assured. “Both my girls go there. Patience is two years older than Zac here, and Lula’s a year younger.” His gaze returned to me before he lowered his voice as if he thought that would prevent me from hearing when he asked Mama, “He doesn’t need…special classes. Does he?” His tone heavily implied that something wasn’t right with me. But Mama didn’t seem to notice. “Pardon?” she murmured, sounding confused before she gasped. “Oh! No, no. Of course not. Zac’s as bright as they come. He’s just being shy right now.” “Shy?” Mr. Everett repeated slowly, lifting an eyebrow in disagreement before he returned his gaze to my knuckles. “Hmm. I guess that’s a phase they can grow out of, at least.” Mama’s hand on my back felt protective and secure as she vaguely murmured, “I guess. Hey, did I hear right that we needed to stop here for a key?” “What’s that?” Mr. Everett asked, forced to tear his attention from me again. “A key? Right. To the rental. Sure. Let me go hunt that down real quick. I’ll be right back.” And he disappeared into his office again. Through the doorway, I saw him set his donut on his desk and wipe his hands on his hips before he started opening drawers and searching. “Might take me a moment,” he called. “I’ve gotten a little messy in here. Proof that I definitely need an assistant. So I hope you’re willing to work for your money.” “Oh, I don’t mind an honest day’s labor,” Mama assured him. He smiled up at her. “That’s good because I’d lose my head without someone telling me where I left it each morning. Then again, insanity runs in my family, so maybe I’m a lost cause.” She laughed back and then leaned down to whisper to me. “I think we’re going to like it here.” I looked up at her in disagreement. She nodded encouragingly, but I saw tears in her eyes. She wanted this to work. She wanted to fit in and find a home. A place to finally stay. So I nodded back. As long as no one hurt her in the dead-grass place, I’d make it work too.