Shellshocked, my mother slumps down on the sofa. All the color's drained from her face like a passenger on a runaway train. "Where do you think he went?" Frightened, she glances at the door." Do you think he'll he be back here tonight?"

My grandmother's irritated face tells me everything. "I don't want to know where Jack went. "All I know is, he needs to cool off a bit. I've warned you he had a temper since he was a child. When I went to the store, I had to tie him to the bed. He would get so angry, I tried to beat it out of him."

My grandfather's hands are trembling as he walks back into the room. "Come on son, let's figure out what to do about your car." My grandfather takes Ryan into the den to talk to him.

Realizing we're stranded, my mother and I look at our grandmother. "Claire, you Evie, and Ryan will stay here tonight. 'Just 'til everything calms down." It's more an order, than an offer of help.

"Alright, Thank you, Sabine."

I grit my teeth. Once again, my grandmother's downplaying my father's vicious behavior. She sounds as if this is all my mother's fault. "Come on. We'll set you both up in the blue bedroom. Ryan can sleep down here in the guest room." As my mother follows my grandmother upstairs to fix the bedroom for us, I feel trapped. I've never felt truly comfortable here. I want to return home and sleep in my own bed. I walk over to the card table and pick up the photograph of my father. He stares at me, out of the black shadows. I pray for an epiphany. How did he become so evil? Where did the darkness come from? Prayers have never changed our lives.

As I gather the picture in my hands, I see a new picture on the mantelpiece, one that wasn't there last time we visited. I walk over to examine it. There's a stranger in it. She's a young girl about my own age, grinning at the camera. She's wearing a frilly yellow dress, with matching hair ribbons. It's obviously her birthday. She holding a brightly wrapped present. Who is she? She's beautiful, and she's black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As my mother and I lay in bed that night, shadows lingering in the corner of the slanted walls making the room feel alien instead of cozy. She pulls out her rosary. "I'm saying a novena to The Holy Mother. She'll protect us." There's a beautiful quilted bedspread covering the bed, but my feet are cold.

I roll over and click on the bed lamp. "Mom, do you really believe saying a novena will protect us? Dad used a baseball bat on Ryan's car, I thought he was going to use it on Ryan next! I show her the picture of my father seated at the patio table, sullenly drinking. "What are these shadows above their heads?"

"Let me see, please." She takes the picture from me and sits up. Holding the photograph up to the light, she frowns. "Those spots must be from some sort of overexposure." She refuses to  look at me, but I can feel her mind working. She's primarily French, but has Native American ancestry. Just like me, she can sense things. I know she's as alarmed by the dark imperfections in the photo as I am. She's just denying it.

I say out loud what she's thinking. "I think they're demons, captured on film." If I frighten her enough, maybe she'll pack up our bags and get us the hell out of here tonight.

She grabs my hand. "Don't focus on the darkness, Evie. The light is always more powerful than the dark."

"I'm so tired of these lame excuses! Every time dad drinks, I've watched you burn votive candles in front of a little blue plastic statue of Mary. We should do something concrete to protect ourselves."  I keep my voice low because I'm afraid my grandparents will hear.

She looks at me, her long hair loose about her shoulders, her face naked with pain. "Oh Evie, I know it's not enough to pray without acting, but prayer's made me strong enough to bear it. I've wanted to leave your father since you and Ryan were babies. I should have never married him.

"Why did you marry him?"

"When I met your father, I was working in Montreal at the hospital. It was winter, and I was waiting for the bus. It was so cold. He was a charming gentleman who gave me a ride. I was twenty nine and I wanted to have a family. I didn't speak any English when I first came here. I was totally dependent him. He threatened to take both of you away if I left him." Even though my mother is an accomplished person, with a higher degree than my father, she looks like a little girl.

I sit back, shocked. "You're a prisoner." She nods. "I'm never getting married."

"Not all men are abusive. Your father hates himself."

"And takes it out on us." Maybe, I'm at fault. I don't believe in the power of prayer enough. I never hear God in church." Looking up at the cross, staring into Jesus's blue eyes, I'd beg, if you're here just move your little finger. Slightly, so only I can see. Just a sign between us. I won't tell anyone.

"All these years, I've begged God for a sign he'd heard me, but I've never gotten one. I still pray, but I'm frustrated. I never see any results." She turns off the light making the room pitch black. Then snaps the light back on. "You see, the dark? It's just an illusion, Evie. Prayer works. I'm just waiting until Ryan leaves for college. I've been saving money. I'm leaving your father soon. I promise." A great weight lifts from my shoulders when I hear these words.

I lay back in bed wondering how miracles work? Why isn't there a manual? I always get lost flipping through pages in the service. I pray with all my might that night that we'll all be safe. My father will stop drinking, and we'll be a normal family. How can I trust in a loving holy father when I've never known one?

When I wake up, a tow truck's taking away the white Firebird.