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  “I know you do. I love you, too.”

  They disconnected, and she went back into the room. Her dad looked as though he were sleeping again, so she was quiet as she took the seat next to the bed. His hand moved at once, though, seeking hers.

  “It’s okay, Dad. I’m here. You rest.”

  He smiled faintly. “Already told you, I’ll be resting soon enough. Right now I want to talk to my girl.”

  “Dad—”

  “Hush, now,” he told her, and Marian hushed. He blinked and looked at her, his mouth working while she waited for him to speak. “I’m ready to go. I want you to know that. I’ve been ready.”

  “Dad, no.” Marian shook her head. Held his hand.

  Her father raised the other hand to wave her to silence. “I took a fall. Misstepped heading out the back door into the yard. That brick patio came up to meet me.”

  “What were you trying to do in the yard?”

  He said nothing for some long moments, long enough that Marian was sure he wasn’t going to speak again. When he did, her father’s voice was rough but not confused. He fixed her with a steady gaze, nothing uncertain about it.

  “I heard your mother calling my name. Oh, I knew it couldn’t be her, you know. But I thought it might be the angels. Never had them come in the middle of the day before, but then, who says angels are bound by the clock?”

  Marian swallowed more tears, not wanting her dad to see her crying. “Did you see one?”

  “I did. A beautiful, black-winged angel. They’re not always white, you know.” He chuckled, sounding so much like his healthy self that Marian flinched. “Just like people. I would imagine a black angel would come to a black man, wouldn’t you?”

  “Oh, Dad.”

  “I know you don’t believe me, and that’s fine. That’s just fine.” He patted her hand, his fingers curling to try and hold it, but not quite able to. “I wanted you to know, though. It’s all going to be okay. I’m going to be with your mother very soon, and I’m ready.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t say that, Dad. You need to stick around. Don’t you want to see your new grandbaby?” Marian forced a smile. Tried a small laugh. It wasn’t convincing.

  Her father’s eyes drifted closed again. “I’ll be able to see everything about him from where I’m going. Don’t you worry. We’re—”

  “All going to be just fine. I know,” she said. “I know.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Marian’s father died a little after six p.m. She’d been holding his hand the entire time. He didn’t squeeze her fingers before he passed. He didn’t open his eyes. There were no last words.

  There was also no dreadful cawing, and Marian wept with grief and gratitude as she bent to press her forehead to her father’s limp hand.

  Death in the hospital is no unknown thing. Within an hour, the staff had laid out what Marian needed to do. They hadn’t rushed her out of the room or anything like that, but they hadn’t urged her to linger, either. There was compassion, but also complacency. All of them had been through this before, thousands of times.

  She drove herself home. She’d already called Dean to tell him the news, and he and Briella greeted her at the front door with hugs and tears. She held them both as best she could around the enormous bulge of her belly.

  “Briella,” she said after they’d all wept for some ten minutes or more. “Where is Onyx?”

  Briella swiped at her tears. “What?”

  “Baby?” Dean sounded wary.

  Marian forced a smile to her face. She put on the bright and plastic grin she’d seen on her daughter’s face so often over the past year. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If you called him, though, he’d come, right? He’d come to you?”

  Briella looked frightened. “I don’t know, Mama.”

  “Let’s go see.” Marian took Briella by the hand, tugging her toward the back door in the kitchen.

  Briella dragged her feet a little but didn’t totally resist. Dean muttered his curiosity behind them, but Marian ignored him. Everything had become etched in light, the outlines of every object crisp and sharp and clear. Shining.

  “Call him,” she said.

  Briella’s voice cracked as she whispered the bird’s name.

  “Louder,” Marian said. “He’ll never hear you. Tell him you have a treat for him.”

  “I don’t want to,” Briella said.

  “Do it,” Marian ordered.

  Dean looked uncomfortable. “Babe, you’re upset. Understandably. Let’s just go in, maybe have some tea—”

  “I don’t want any fucking tea,” Marian said through gritted teeth. “Call. Him.”

  “Onyx! Come, Onyx! Treat!”

  And there, from the trees, came the bird. It flew high, then dipped into the pokeweed, yanking a sprig of the purple berries. It dropped them on the porch railing, where they hung for a moment on the edge before falling over the side. The bird landed on the railing, cocking its head to stare at them with that terrible, unblinking gaze.

  “Briella,” it said.

  With a strangled shriek, Marian lunged for it. Her belly made her ponderous, ungainly, slow, but she had the element of surprise and a strength borne from her fury and hatred. She caught the raven around the neck with one hand, a fistful of wing with the other.

  Briella was screaming. Onyx shrieked in the kid’s voice and in Marian’s own, or maybe that really was her own voice. She was the one ripping open her throat with the force of her fury. She was the one tasting blood.

  Dean was shouting too, tugging at her, but not hard enough to pull her away. He was being too careful. Scared for the baby.

  The bird twisted, pecking at Marian’s hand. She didn’t let go. She squeezed. She squeezed and squeezed.

  Onyx stabbed at her again with its beak. The big strong wings flapped. She lost her grip on its wing. Still holding on to it by the neck, Marian groped for the glass ashtray she hadn’t used in months but which remained on the porch railing. She tried to smash the bird with it, but Briella grabbed her arm.

  “Mama, noooooooooo!”

  The ashtray fell, hitting the porch and cracking in half. One piece stayed flat, but the other rolled down the steps. The bird twisted in Marian’s grip, and she lost it.

  It flew upward before diving at her face. Going for her eyes. She didn’t flinch. She grabbed for it again.

  This time, Dean caught her arm and hauled her back. “Enough! Damn it, Marian, enough!”

  A small trickle of blood leaked from her forehead. Onyx had managed to peck her, just once. Marian swiped at the bird and threw off Dean’s grip. She couldn’t breathe. She was going to faint.

  Dean took hold of her again and got her inside, where he sat her at the kitchen table. He put a glass of water in front of her, but she couldn’t bring herself to drink it. Marian put her head in her hands.

  “Mama?”

  “Grampa died,” Marian said. “And I am not all right.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Marian buried her father on a sweltering day in early August, in the plot next to her mother. She wore a black tent dress, the only thing that would still fit over her bulk. She had ankles like tree trunks. Even her nose had gained weight. She was bloated. Swollen.

  Gravid.

  The sickness and vomiting that had plagued her for a few months had mercifully left her, replaced by a vast and ruthless hunger she could not appease no matter how much she ate, but it was more than that. She needed to eat to keep up her strength. She couldn’t be in bed all the time. She couldn’t be frail. Since her father’s death she’d gained nearly all the weight she’d lost during the worst of her illness.

  “You need to slow down a little, Marian,” her OB, Dr. Lopez, told her.

  Marian could not slow down. She moved