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don’t talk to me like that. You need a good walloping, is what you need. You’re not too old for me to show you what for.”

“Let go of me,” she yelled, trying to twist her wrist from his grasp. “Don’t you touch—”

“You’re not going anywhere, missy,” he said, shoving her back against the bed.

With her free hand, she grabbed the bedpost and clung to it, holding herself upright. “I said I was sorry. Get away from me!”

“You’ll talk to me with resp—”

The door burst open and Liam strode into the room. His face was contorted and red as he launched himself at Colm, grabbing

him by the back of his collar and yanking him away from Mairin.

“Hey, get off me, you little cocksucker.” Colm twisted around, fists flying. Liam was more slender than Colm, and their stepfather

was a fighter, always getting in brawls at the pub and at the racetrack.

Mairin froze in shock as blood exploded from Liam’s nose. He ducked the second punch and then hit back, driving his fist into

Colm’s gut. Colm doubled over with a whoosh of air, then rushed at Liam. Liam fought with a ferocity Mairin had never witnessed

before, his every strike seeming to be fueled by fury. He drove his fist straight into Colm’s throat, and the blow made a

sickening sound.

Mairin thought that might be the end of her stepfather. His eyes bulged, and he wheezed and gasped for air. Then came a panicked

look and a roar, and Colm charged again. The two crashed into the lowboy dresser where Mairin kept her bottles of cologne,

her picture of Dad, and the silver-backed brush and mirror set she’d inherited from Granny O’Hara. Bottles and glass flew

everywhere. Colm’s fists flailed, and the sickening sound of the punches stirred Mairin into action. She leaped onto the large

man from behind, scratching at his face. He reared back, flinging her off. When she hit the floor, all the breath left her,

and for a moment, she saw stars.

When Colm whirled back to face her brother, Liam was brandishing Granny O’Hara’s hand mirror, broken now, with one slender

shard glinting in the light.

“Get out of here, you sick fuck,” Liam said, swiping a sleeve across his nose. “If you ever go near her again, I’ll kill you.

Swear to God I will.”

“You hurt?” Liam asked in a hoarse voice after Colm had stormed out.

“I’m okay.” The back of her head throbbed, though she didn’t recall hitting it on anything. Tears streamed down her face,

though she didn’t recall starting to cry. Then she realized what he was asking. “You showed up just in time. Come on,” she

said. “You’re the one who’s hurt.” She led the way down the hall to the bathroom.

The worn wooden door creaked as she held it and motioned Liam inside.

The room was barely big enough for the two of them.

The walls were clad with cabbage-rose paper, peeling at the edges and faded where the light from the single window struck it.

The scent of Ivory soap mingled with the ever-present musky smell of dampness, as if someone had been trapped in the room, crying, for a hundred years.

It was weird to think that a hundred years ago, when the whole neighborhood was covered in orchards, this house had been built

to hold someone’s hopes and dreams. Or maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it had been a slapped-together workers’ cottage, meant to shelter

the itinerant pickers who came up from the South for the fruit harvest each year.

Sometimes Mairin wondered who else had stood in this spot, staring into the pockmarked mirror. A girl like her, dismayed with

her stubborn red curls and freckles, getting ready for a date? A little kid on a stool, learning how to brush his teeth? A

man as handsome as her father, lifting his chin to get his shave just right?

Or maybe someone like Liam, glaring at his image—watery eyes, the blood thickening to sludge under his nose.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, grabbing a washcloth from the linen cupboard over the commode. She took one of the more threadbare

ones, because it was likely to be ruined by the blood.

“Yeah. But I’ll live,” he said.

She ran cold water into the sink basin, then stepped aside so he could bend forward and clean his face. Once the stream of

water changed from bright red to clear, she handed him the damp cloth. “Do you think it’s broken?”

He held the cloth gingerly to his nose. “Nah. Don’t think so, anyway.”

Fury welled up inside her. “I hate him,” she said. “He’s the worst.”

Liam turned and studied her face. “I need you to be honest with me,” he said. “Has Colm ever tried anything like that before?”

“ No. But he’s...” She thought about the looks she caught from him when she passed him in the hallway on the way to her room after a shower.

“I’ve never trusted him, not even when he tries to be nice.

Honestly, that’s the first time he...

” She wasn’t a hundred percent sure ex actly what Colm had intended, but it wasn’t good.

Nothing that made her feel sick inside could be good. “I hate him,” she repeated.

“So do I,” Liam muttered. He peeled off his shirt, balled it up, and threw it into the rust-streaked bathtub.

She eyed the bruise forming on his rib cage. “What about that?”

He shrugged, glanced in the mirror again. “It’s okay.” He finished cleaning up, and to Mairin’s relief, his nose looked okay.

Maybe a little red and tender.

“I sure don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t shown up,” she said.

“You would’ve fought like hell, that’s what. You’re a strong kid,” her brother told her.

“Teach me, Liam,” she said. “Show me what to do. You know, if it ever happens again.”

He braced his hands on the edge of the sink, and she saw his muscles tighten. Then he gave a curt nod. “Let me grab a shirt

and meet me out back.”

She headed out to the back porch and down the stairs. The late-afternoon sunshine cast a warm glow over the yard and garden,

but the serene atmosphere was an illusion. The house didn’t seem safe anymore, not the way it had when Dad was alive. When

they were younger, she and Liam used to play here every day, even in winter. Dad had built them a tree house in the sycamore,

though now only a few broken remnants remained. She could still hear the echoes of their whispered secrets as they played

the Swiss family Robinson, surviving in the wild against all odds. She could still feel the release of burdens in tears shed

over losses small and large—a pet rabbit, a softball match, a school prize... their father.

Now that she and Liam were older, the world felt harsh and unforgiving. Everything mattered more. Especially in this moment,

with the threat of war looming over Liam’s head, and Colm’s temper and creepy ways shadowing Mairin’s spirit.

Liam came out to the yard, wearing a fresh T-shirt and jeans turned up at the cuffs, his hair slicked back. She tried to picture him in a soldier’s uniform and helmet, but it seemed impossible.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Mairin asked him.

“Fit as a fiddle.” He offered her a reassuring grin. “Anyway, first rule is this—don’t let it happen again. Not with him,

not with any guy. Or any girl, for that matter. Full stop.”

“But how am I supposed to figure out—”

“You know more than you think you know,” he told her. “Like, trust your gut. Think about it. What’d it feel like when you

first saw him in your room?”

She understood what he was getting at. “He brought me a sugar donut.” Yet she remembered the slight but palpable inner prickle

she’d felt the moment she’d heard Colm’s heavy steps. “You know before you know,” she said softly.

“Exactly. If it feels wrong, it is wrong. So don’t let yourself be home alone with him. Or anywhere alone with him. Stick close to Mam, or go see a friend.

Go across the street to the Pezzamentis’ house. Go to the library. The school gym. The fire station. But if he corners you,

then you have to fight back,” Liam said.

Mairin felt a ripple of doubt. “I don’t know the first thing about fighting.”

“You’re a smart girl. You’re strong. Just remember to respect your gut and act fast. The goal is to defend yourself and get

away quick.”

“Get away from my own room,” she muttered. “That’s rich.”

“That’s reality. I’m going to put a lock on your door as soon as the hardware store opens in the morning.” Liam stood across

from her, demonstrating a relaxed stance. “Let’s work on your posture. Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart. You want

to start with a stable base. Plant yourself like this.”

Mairin adjusted her stance. Liam continued, “Now, keep your hands up so you’re protecting your face. The key is to never stop

moving. If some guy tries to grab you, push him away with all your might. Use your knees and elbows. Keep moving. Let’s give

it a try.”

He came at her in slow motion, coaching her through several basic moves, demonstrating ways to use the natural strength of her body to strike and then get away. “Anything is a weapon,” he said. “Anything you can get your hands on.”

She nodded, remembering the broken mirror. Liam told her to look around the yard and find something to grab—a fallen branch,

a rake, a brick or stone.

In the quiet haven of the backyard, Mairin learned how to defend herself when she felt threatened, or worse, when someone

like Colm went on the attack. She watched intently and emulated Liam’s moves, absorbing the knowledge with a mix of determination

and apprehension. Aim for the vulnerable spots—eyes and crotch. Yell at the top of your lungs. Never stop moving. She was

glad to be learning these things, but it was scary, too, because it forced her to leave behind her assumptions about the world

she lived in.

“This is good,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You’re doing good, Mairin.”

“How’d you hit him in the neck like that?” she asked. “I thought he was gonna keel over.”

“Throat strike,” Liam said. “Works good when the other guy’s a lot bigger. Make your hand into a cheetah-paw like this. He

won’t see it coming, and while he’s gagging, you can try to get away. Always know where the exit is.” Liam’s voice softened

as he mopped his brow again, studying Mairin. He looked like their father’s old high school yearbook pictures, handsome and

serious. “Remember, all of this stuff is about getting away from danger. If you ever feel threatened, the main goal is to

escape. Got it? Escape and survive.”

“Escape and survive,” she repeated, and a palpable sense of determination welled up inside her. “You have to promise you’ll

do the same. I mean, if you get sent to Vietnam and you get captured, find a way to escape and survive.”

“Of course. That’s what they’re going to train me to do.”

“Promise, Liam. Swear you’ll keep yourself safe.”

“Swear,” he said, and held up his pinkie finger, hooking it around hers the way they used to do as little kids.

She felt a wave of love for her brother. “What am I going to do without you, Liam?”

“You’re going to remember what I taught you today.”

She glowered. “I’m telling Mam.”

He stood still for a moment, his mouth set in a serious line. “You should. And I’ll back you up. But keep in mind, she’s pretty

damn loyal to the SOB.”

“Loyal? Are you crazy? How could she be loyal to a guy who tried to... who came into my room? Who practically broke your

nose?”

He shrugged. “That’s just the way she is. Old-fashioned, letting him be the man of the house.”

“Dad bought this house, not Colm,” she said. “I wish Mam would just... just divorce him.” She cringed inwardly, saying the word. It was one of the most dreaded words in the world. Mam acted as if it were a

swear word. Kids whose mothers were divorced were different. She didn’t actually know any of them, but she knew they were different.

Liam gave a snort of laughter. “Right. Soon as hell freezes over, squirt. Mam grew up in the Church in Ireland, remember.

And divorce is illegal in Ireland. Illegal .”

“She’s in America now. She can do anything she wants.” Yet Mairin felt the hope drain out of her. What their mother wanted

was what the Church had taught her to want. Mam’s friends in the Catholic Women’s League were super traditional, especially

the ones who came from Ireland. They believed what the Church taught them to believe—that it was better to hold on to a monster

than to face the shame of divorce.