“You’re supposed to be the smart one,” she told him.

“Fix it.”

Garrett felt an old reflex rise: find somebody with money, tell a convincing story, make the problem disappear for a week.

He thought of Iris.

Her accounts had always made everything feel manageable.

If he hadn’t thrown that cup, perhaps she would still be there covering the electricity and tolerating another request for help.

Then he caught himself thinking it and became angry.

He wanted to believe the violence was an isolated mistake.