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living. They loved routine. They certainly didn’t talk to dogs . The student was a robot—not a dog-talking woman!

Chapter Eight
    The night before, Parker had experienced a terrible nightmare. Usually, she didn’t dream, or at least she didn’t remember her dreams after waking. What was the point of remembering them? They were insignificant and puzzling.
    “Don’t ever become a human, Fritz,” she told the dog, looking down at him. “People disgust me.”
    Parker sat on the deck wearing her purple-and-white striped pajama pants and her girlfriend’s favorite T-shirt, which Ida bought at a U2 concert she had attended in Dublin. Wearing the shirt made Parker feel closer to Ida—like a hug from the grave.
    “What’s happening to me, Fritz? I used to be able to drown myself in school and work and never think…‌not even about all those I lost…” Her voice drifted off.
    Fritz cocked his head to the side, and then he snapped viciously at a passing fly.
    “And now I can’t forget her, and I’m sitting out here in my PJs talking to a dog.” A chuckle fizzled out in the back of her throat.
    In the dream, Parker couldn’t see her grandparents’ faces. Their bodies were there, but their faces were gone, like a painting that had been smeared by water. Then her mother appeared, and it was the same. When Ida showed up in the dream, and Parker couldn’t see her face either, she had woken up, screaming.
    “Why couldn’t I see their faces?” she directed the question to Fritz, but didn’t expect him or anyone to answer.
    There had been a man in the dream, too. She saw his face. Black beady eyes, smooth skin, charcoal hair, and a feminine mouth. The description matched no one she knew in real life. Could it be? No, that wasn’t possible.
    Parker had never met her father. When she was young, she used to ask her mom to describe him, but all her mom would say was that he wasn’t a kind man. Such a description didn’t help, although her mother’s actions did.
    To be blunt, Parker’s mom was a paranoid loon. If anyone stopped to talk to Parker, her mom would immediately grab her daughter’s hand and run away. Parker wasn’t allowed to have friends over, and she wasn’t allowed to go to friends’ houses. By the second grade, she was ostracized by all of the students in her class. Parker was the weird kid who didn’t talk. And she was always impeccably dressed and never had a spot of dirt on her—none of the other kids trusted a spotless child. It wasn’t natural.
    Soon, learning from her mother, Parker started to suspect everyone of everything. In the third grade, her mother allowed her to go to Bible school at a neighbor’s house. At first, Parker was thrilled to be involved in an activity, even if it did involve studying the Bible. She already knew she was an atheist, although she never told anyone. She still hadn’t—not even Ida, who wasn’t a devout Catholic but was still Catholic to a degree.
    Things quickly changed. During the fifth lesson, the Bible schoolteacher gave each student—a total of three—a chocolate-chip cookie she had baked. Parker had bitten into her cookie, screamed, and then ran home.
    As soon as Parker had barged into her home, she screamed for her mother. Her mother and grandparents, who were visiting, rushed to the child’s side.
    “What’s wrong?” shouted her hysterical mother.
    “I’ve been poisoned!” Parker burst into tears.
    “What?” Her mother became even more unhinged.
    The grandparents eyed each other quizzically. Grandmother leaned down. “Now, sweetie, why don’t you tell me the whole story?”
    Young Parker, too distraught, could only point to the cookie in her hand, sobbing uncontrollably.
    “Now, now, sweetie.” Her grandmother patted her on the back. “What’s wrong with the cookie?”
    Parker wiped her nose with the back of her hand, smearing snot all over her face. “It’s poisoned.”
    Her mother shrieked, but no sound came out. She swayed