“I’m the one who makes the final call on who stays in his life.”

“Not if state child welfare comes into this house,” I said.

He whirled around to face me, his hands falling to his sides.

“You wouldn’t call them.”

“The hospital social worker called them at two o’clock this morning while you were driving through Nebraska,” I said.

“It wasn’t optional.”

A soft buzz came from his front pocket, three short vibrations against his heavy work pants.

Clay took out his phone, turned the glass screen in toward his belt buckle, and covered the top edge with his thumb.