She began to twist her gold wedding band around and around her ring finger, a slow, rhythmic motion that had defined every quiet crisis of my childhood.

“Your father did not sleep last night, Mara,” she said, her voice dropping to its usual breathless whisper.

“I have early shifts all next week,” I said.

My voice was flat and dry.

“He spent three hours in the kitchen, just looking out at the gravel driveway,” she said, ignoring my remark.

“He kept the outdoor floodlight off.

He said he did not want anyone seeing the truck.”

“The police already know about the truck,” I said.