His smile tightened as he waited.

The quiet between us seemed to offend him more than an argument would have.

Garrett was accustomed to getting an answer, even if the answer was only an apology for something I had not done.

He could turn an apology into proof of guilt.

He could turn silence into defiance.

There was no response I could give him that he would not use.

“Say it,” he instructed.

I kept my eyes on the dark seam of his boot.

If I looked up, I would see Loretta waiting to approve whatever he did next, and Delia leaning out of her chair to enjoy it.

I had spent too many months studying their faces for signs that one of them might intervene.

By then I knew that none of them would.

The little phone beneath the loose soil was recording.

That was the only thing I could allow myself to think about besides the baby.

“I need a doctor,” I managed to say.

Garrett’s expression changed.

Not with concern.

He glanced toward the fence, checking whether the neighbors could hear.

“You always make a scene,” he said, raising his voice into that practiced register he used at church picnics.