“I see,” Darla said when I didn’t answer.

She didn’t ask another question, but she didn’t hang up right away either.

I could hear the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing across seventy miles of phone line.

“I’ll be down to see her soon,” Darla said, and the line went dead.

I went back inside at seven.

The smell of Tuesday night’s chili still lingered in the warm kitchen, mixed with the damp smell of thrift store cotton.

Sadie had spread the navy dress across the laminate kitchen table under the single ceiling bulb.