He looked at the coat, then at my face, his eyes narrowed and gray under the bright kitchen light.

“Leave the coat alone,” he said.

“The lining’s ripped.”

“I could sew it up for you,” I said.

“I said leave it,” he said again, putting his glass down on the table with a hard wooden thump.

He walked past me into the front room, his thick socks silent on the rug.

By eight o’clock the upstairs bathroom door was locked, and the sound of running water filled the ceiling over the kitchen.

I went out the back door into the dark yard with the little aluminum flashlight from the pantry drawer.