Karma Brown

In This Moment


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Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Chapter 19

       Chapter 20

       Chapter 21

       Chapter 22

       Chapter 23

       Chapter 24

       Chapter 25

       Chapter 26

       Chapter 27

       Chapter 28

       Chapter 29

       Chapter 30

       Chapter 31

       Chapter 32

       Chapter 33

       Chapter 34

       Chapter 35

       Chapter 36

       Chapter 37

       Chapter 38

       Chapter 39

       Chapter 40

       Acknowledgments

       Questions for Discussion

       A Conversation with Karma Brown

       Extract

      Remember upon the conduct of each depends the fate of all.

      —Alexander the Great

       1

      I wake with a start thanks to a loud bang against the window on my side of the bed. Without looking I know what’s happened—another bird, tricked by the clear glass of our balcony windows, has soared to its death and snapped me out of my slumber.

      Using my fingertips I pull my phone off the nightstand and squint at the clock icon. When I see the time I sit straight up, pulling the covers off Ryan, who groans with annoyance. “Ryan. We have to get up.”

      “Five more minutes,” Ryan mumbles, his back to me as he tries to pull the duvet back up over his shoulders.

      I nudge him again, tug at the duvet. “Get up. We’re late.”

      He rolls toward me, and I hold my phone in front of him. He lets out a quiet string of curse words. “Didn’t you set your alarm?”

      “Didn’t you?” I grumble, throwing the duvet off my legs but still not getting out of bed. I feel leaden, like in the night someone replaced my blood with molasses, and my head hurts. Ryan is out of bed and has already started the shower, and my mind drifts again to the bird. Maybe it was only stunned and has already flown away.

      I place my feet gingerly on the floor, wiggling some warmth into my toes. Flicking on the balcony light I glance down. Damn. The bird’s neck is torqued at a distressing angle, its feathers ruffling with the breeze, but otherwise there’s no movement in its tiny body.

      I contemplate the best way to get rid of it without upsetting Audrey. After the last one broke its neck, a vibrant yellow finch that Audrey buried under our hydrangeas, Ryan refused to let her soap all the windows in the house. So she made glass gel clings, thanks to the internet and twenty dollars of gelatin from the bulk store and a determination to save every last neighborhood bird. I think of the gel clings inside my nightstand drawer, likely sticking to whatever else I’d forgotten about in there, and whisper an apology to the bird.

      Guilt getting the better of me, I’m about to grab the clings and put them up when the coffee timer beeps a floor below. With sudden clarity I realize what else I’ve forgotten to do. I race down the stairs and groan when I get to the kitchen. The coffeemaker is surrounded by a spreading pool of black liquid and coffee grounds, cascading over the counter’s lip and on to the floor. What the hell is it with this day?

      * * *

      I’m on my hands and knees mopping up the grungy coffee when Ryan comes into the kitchen, tucking his shirt into his pants and looking fresh and well-rested, especially in comparison to me—disheveled in my pajamas and unruly, finger-swept bun. “What happened?”

      “I forgot to empty the carafe before I set the timer last night,” I say.

      Ryan steps around the mess and me, and opens the fridge door. “That’s not like