He simply held the phone near his ear, his eyes fixed on my face, waiting to see if I would cross the invisible line he had drawn with his mulch.

I stepped backward, my sneakers slipping slightly on the loose wood chips.

I turned and walked toward my back porch, my shoulders tight, expecting to hear his boots on the grass behind me.

I went inside and filled a glass with cold tap water, but my hand shook so hard the water sloshed over the rim onto the counter.

I wiped it with a yellow dish towel, trying to slow my breathing.

Emma sat at the kitchen table, a half-empty box of packing tape sitting next to her college trunk.