“Dad told me I was packing up my room to go live at Aunt Joanie’s house,” Austin said simply, looking straight at his father.

“When, Peter?” I demanded, turning my glare back on my husband.

“When exactly were you planning to ship our boy out of this house?”

Peter wouldn’t speak, pressing his lips into a tight, pale line, his eyes stuck to the floorboards.

“Dad told me Aunt Joanie was driving down in her blue car to pick me up this Saturday morning,” Austin said, breaking the heavy silence.

Saturday morning was only four short days away, which meant this whole plan had been arranged without one word to the mother of this house.