“Yeah. They’d like me to spend the night. Mrs. Mendoza talked to Grandma, but Grandma said I have to ask you. Please? I’ve been helping Mr. Mendoza with the sheep and Gianna is having a difficult time right now.”
“I don’t like this.”
“I know, and I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“Send Bobby home right now. I can pick you up on my way back from Margery’s.”
The stranger grabbed her upper arm and squeezed.
“Really, Mom?” she said. “You don’t need me for anything, and Gianna needs me. She really does or I wouldn’t ask.”
“I don’t like feeling manipulated, Avery,” her mom said.
“I’m not, I swear.”
Silence. The man squeezed her so hard she yelped.
“What?” her mother asked.
“Sorry, I hit my elbow on the counter.”
“Fine,” her mom said with a sigh, and Avery could hear the tension in her voice. Her mom had a lot on her mind, and Avery wondered if there was something wrong with Margery and the baby. Because why else would her mom go up there now, when the roads were such a mess?
“Thank you!” She was about to hang up but her mom continued.
“But stay put. This storm is getting worse. Maybe this is for the best. Margery’s blood pressure is elevated, and I’m thinking of bringing her to the house so I can keep an eye on her tonight. If Rock Creek floods, she won’t be able to get to the hospital if the baby comes early. I’ll give her your bed.”
“Okay,” she said. “I love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too, honey.”
She hung up.
“Who is Margery?” The man asked.
“A friend.”
“Why is your mother there? This Margery, she’s pregnant? Who is your mother?”
“Um, Ellen?”
“What does your mother do?” He raised his arm as if to hit her.
“She runs the house. The farm. My dad died last year and nowmy mom does everything. I don’t know what you want from me!” Her voice ended in a cry.
He stared at her, then he let her go. “Go back to your friend.”
Avery ran back down the hall and slammed the door shut.
The rain had been falling steadily for over an hour, soaking the tall grass in the field near where Tom sat in his truck, engine off, heat fogging the inside of the windshield. He rubbed it with his sleeve so he could better see. Across the road, the Coulters’ house stood half-shrouded behind a row of leaning oaks, the gravel driveway turning to mud under the rain. Tom could barely make out the porch from where he sat, but he knew what he was looking for.
He sipped coffee from the thermos he had filled early this morning before he left his house. His shirt clung to the back of his neck from being caught in the rain earlier, and the north Texas humidity preventing him from drying.
His phone buzzed once. A text from his son:Can we playGhost Recontonight?
Tom exhaled through his nose, thumbed the screen but didn’t type a reply.
“Not if Mitchell keeps jerking me around out here,” he muttered.
