“She put a picture of Sadie holding that dress bag right on her public profile,” Rory yelled, his breathing rough and harsh through the little speaker.

“She tagged Tasha.

She tagged my boss at the welding shop.

She wrote that a real grandmother makes sure her own blood isn’t left in the dirt while other people wear six-hundred-dollar gowns.”

In the back seat, Sadie went perfectly still, her fingers frozen on top of the black garment bag.

“Did you hear me, Jodi?” Rory demanded, his voice cracking into a high, furious pitch.

“Tasha’s sitting in our kitchen bawling because half the ladies on the church committee are commenting on it.