"You never liked me," she told the woman on the couch.
"Yes," the woman repeated robotically. "I never liked you."
Dave pushed the man into a chair and turned to Lolli. "We could just make them leave," he said. "It would be so easy. We could live here."
Lolli sat down next to the little girl and plucked a ringlet of her dark hair. "What you watching?"
The girl shrugged.
"Would you like to come and play with us?"
"Sure," the little girl said. "This show is boring."
"Let's start with dress-up," Lolli said, leading the little girl into the back room.
Val turned to the man. He looked docile and happy in his chair, his attention wandering to the television.
"Where's your other daughter?" Val asked.
"I only have one," he said, with mild bafflement.
"You just want to forget about the other one. But she's still here."
"I have another daughter?"
Val sat down on the arm of his chair and leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. "She's a symbol of the spectacular fuck-up that was your first marriage. Every time you see how she is, you are reminded how old you are. She makes you feel vaguely guilty, like maybe you should know what sport she plays or what her best friend's name is. But you don't want to know those things. If you knew those things, you couldn't forget about her."
"Hey," Dave said, holding up a bottle of cognac that was mostly full. "Luis would like some of this."
Lolli walked back into the room wearing a leather jacket the color of burnt butter and a string of pearls. The little girl had a dozen glittering rhinestone pins in her hair.
"Are you happy at least?" Val asked the woman.
"I don't know," said the woman.
"How can you not know?" Val shouted. She picked up a chair and threw it at the television. The screen cracked and everyone jumped. "Are you happy?"
"I don't know," the woman said.
Val tipped over a bookcase, making the little girl scream. There were shouts outside the door.
Dave started laughing.
The light from the chandelier reflected in the crystals, sending shining sparks to glitter along the walls and ceilings. "Let's go," Val said. "They don't know anything."
The kitten wailed and wailed, pawing at Lolli with sharp little nails, jumping on her with its soft little body. "Shut up, Polly," she mumbled, rolling over and pulling the heavy blanket over her head.
"Maybe she's bored," Val said drowsily.
"It's hungry," Luis said. "Fucking feed it already."
Yowling, Polly jumped onto Lolli's shifting back, batting at her hair.
"Get off me," Lolli told the cat. "Go kill some rats. You're old enough to be on your own."
A shriek of metal grinding against metal and a dim light signaled the approach of a train. The rumbling drowned out the sound of the cat's cries.
At the last moment, as the whole platform was flooded with light, Lolli shoved Polly onto the tracks, right in front of the train. Val jumped up, but it was too late. The cat was gone and the metal body of the train thundered past.
"What the fuck did you do that for?" Luis shouted.
"She always pissed on everything anyway," Lolli said, curling up into a ball and closing her eyes.
Val looked over at Luis, but he just looked away.
After Ravus was satisfied with her stance, he taught her one move and made her repeat it until her limbs ached and she was convinced he thought she was stupid, until she was sure that he didn't know how to teach anyone anything. He taught her each move until it was automatic, as much a habit as biting the skin around her fingernails or the needle she shoved in her arm.
"Exhale," he shouted. "Time your exhalation to your strike."
She nodded and tried to remember to do it, tried to do everything.
Val liked Dumpster-diving with Sketchy Dave, liked walking through the streets, enjoyed the hunt and the occasional amazing find—like the stack of quilted blankets with silver lining that movers used to pad furniture, found piled up near a Dumpster, and that kept the four of them warm as mice even as November wore on or the cool old rotary dial phone that someone paid ten bucks for. Most of the time, though, they were too dazed with Never to manage to make the old rounds. It was easier to take what they wanted anyway. All they had to do was ask.
A watch. A camera. A gold ring.
Those things sold better than a bunch of old crap anyway.
Then, finally, Ravus let her begin to put the moves together and spar. Ravus's longer arms put him at a continual advantage, but he didn't need it. He was pitiless, broomstick knocking her to the ground, driving her back against the walls, knocking over his own table when she tried to put it between them. Instinct and years of sports combined with desperation to let her get an occasional blow in.