It was the only time in her entire life her mother ever slapped her--just one quick crack, a motion almost graceful in its economy. Of course, her mother had always been dramatic and unpredictable. Down one day, up the next. Moody. But never moody to Thea, her favorite.

Thea was ten and had been playing jacks on the hardwood floor in her parents' bedroom upstairs. It was one of those Sunday evenings in August, after dinner, when the air's so muggy you know it could turn sour any minute. Her younger sister, Mickey, was playing catch, as usual, with their father in the backyard. Thea could hear him calling out, "Aim for my glove! " and "Great throw! " and "Okay now ... watch the ball! " Her mother was in the kitchen baking, using her new heart-shaped cookie cutter.

There were four jacks left. Thea tossed the rubber ball up in the air but when she tried to scoop the last silvery pieces, she hit the ball accidentally with the side of her hand and it veered under the bed, like a smooth rock skipping water. She lifted the dust ruffle. All she saw was a large cardboard box, a lady's dress box with J. E. Steadman's, Where Your Dollars Have Cents printed in old-fashioned green lettering across the lid. She had to angle her shoulders and birdlegs to inch under the bed and pull the box out.

The lid was mashed in on one side so she lifted it with both hands to keep it from falling apart. Inside was a cream wedding dress with long skinny sleeves stuffed with tissue paper. It looked like the person who'd worn it had taken it off so quickly she'd left her arms in it. There was also a small headpiece with a veil and a pair of shoes lying on their sides. The neck of the dress was trimmed in cream fur. The matching shoes had sharp-pointed toes and spike heels, as if they could be aimed at something.

Thea threw off her striped shirt and shorts. Her cotton underpants slipped down, by mistake, along with her shorts. She looked around to make sure nobody had come in and quickly pulled her pants back up, over her naked rear. She undid the covered buttons down the front of the dress, lifted it above her head and let it fall over her shoulders. The silky fabric felt slippery against her chest. The fur tickled her neck. She looked down at the hem of the dress, pooling around her bare feet like milk, then buttoned the buttons and dropped the shoes on the floor, stepping into them. They almost fit. Holding the headpiece, she clomped across the room to the full-length mirror on the back of the door.

She tried the headpiece one way, then decided it must go the other way. Walking slowly to keep her balance, she went back to the box and gathered up the hairpins loose in the bottom, then to the mirror again where she pinned the headpiece in place and unfolded the veil down over her small round face. She thought she looked glamorous, like a movie star star bride on the cover of Photoplay. She smiled and gave a little wave of her fingers to an imaginary audience, pretending this was a moment they'd remember the rest of their lives.

That's when her mother opened the door to the room. Thea was still smiling and waving, but her mother was standing as close as Thea's reflection had been one second before. She was wearing bright orange toreador pants and a matching halter top. There was a smear of dough on her cheek in front of her ear. Her mouth was clamped together, eyes narrow.

"What do you think you're doing?" she said through her teeth.

Thea couldn't tell how she meant that so she asked a question back. "Is this your--"

"Is that my what? My wedding dress? Is that what you want to know?" Her mother never screamed but she was suddenly screaming now. "Where'd you find that?"

Thea stumbled back and tried to answer. "Well, I--"

"Well you what?" This didn't sound at all like her. Not the words. Not the voice.

"I just found it under --"

"You went through my room, didn't you? That's what you've been doing up here all night! Going through my things! What right do you have to -- " She grabbed the edge of the door and heaved it against the wall. Thea had never seen her do anything like that. It was as if she'd been saving something up for a long time and finally let it go. The doorknob left a cupped place in the pale yellow paint. Thea tookanother step back. Her mother was sobbing as if she werestrangling. Her arms were flailing like she could come out ofher body, her hands flopping around like fish.

Then one hand locked into place and blistered Thea's cheek.

For an instant, she was deafened. Her mother's mouth was open and moving, and her face was wet and clenched like someone half-lost, but Thea couldn't hear a word she was saying. Noise had turned into the sound a fan makes waving in front of your face, a cool wind blowing over a hot surface. Thea reeled, falling backward. Her mother caught her before she hit the floor.

Thea was trembling. The right side of her head ached. Her mother was holding her tight, crying, kissing her face through the veil, then holding her cheek to Thea's cheek, then kissing her again. "I'm sorry, darling! I'm so, so sorry!" her mother kept saying.

The air around them began to shimmer. The walls turned wavy and started dissolving. Her mother picked her up and carried her through the thin, watery membrane that now covered everything, across the landing, into the room with the ragged robin wallpaper, the room she and her sister shared. Surprisingly, Mickey was already there, in the twin bed next to hers, a hand buried in her hair; she always twirled that one strand of hair just before she fell asleep. The cream dress, veil, and shoes somehow vanished as though they'd never existed, and Thea now had on blue-checked shorty pajamas, like her sister's...

Excerpted from The Slow Way Back © Copyright 2012 by Judy Goldman. Reprinted with permission by HarperCollins. All rights reserved.