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“No.”
“You can’t stop me. Not legally. I’m their father. We’re still married.”
Only because she had felt there was no way to get an annulment and was too ashamed to start the legal proceedings of a divorce. While Patrick made demands and belittled her, he’d stopped shy of ever striking her or, God forbid, the children. What would the church be able to say or do, even if she could gather the courage to ask?
“Please, Patrick. Leave us in peace. That’s all I want.”
He took a step forward, and despite the careful grooming, the new coat, the smiles, her heart beat faster in alarm, muscles tightening to run. “Maybe that’s not allIwant.”
He’d never hurt her before, but something had changed, and there was a desperation in those eyes as he reached for her.
“Hey!”
They both turned to see Mr. Devons striding their way from the group of smokers, scowling under thick eyebrows. “What’s this? Everything all right out here?”
“Yes, sir,” Martina managed, gratitude for his timely arrival mixing with humiliation. “I was just—”
She gestured to her husband, but Patrick had disappeared into the shadows, leaving only the scent of smoke behind.
“That man asked if I had a cigarette,” she finished.
If anything, that seemed to increase Mr. Devons’s suspicion. “Does he work here?”
That at least was an easier question to answer. “I don’t think so.”
The foreman gave her a long, hard look from deep-set eyes, as if he could detect lies by sight alone, like Christie’s Poirot. “You’d better get inside. Break’s almost over.”
He didn’t warn her not to speak to strange men or to be careful when going off on her own at night. Of course not. It wasn’t her safety he was concerned about.
Here, she was the threat.
The rest of the night, Mr. Devons hovered around her station, so much that Ginny muttered, “What’s with the buzzard?” when he turned his back.
Martina had shrugged and continued her work, packing sand in the molds with deadly efficiency, never pausing, no matter how tired she got. Once again, Patrick had put her in danger.
Please, she prayed, wishing she still had her rosary,let him leave. For good this time.
But as seemed to happen so often these days, heaven was silent.
We might need to be the ones to leave.The thought had occurred to her before, but even if she could find another job before her savings ran out, even if housing was as affordable as it was here in Derby, it didn’t feel right to uproot the children again. Rosa had made friends at school. Gio thought he might join a baseball team in the spring, and he and Mr. Keats seemed to be genuinely connecting. Besides, there was the book club. How could they leave all that behind?
With a grunt, Martina hefted the filled mold onto the conveyor, setting it down harder than necessary.
The song was right. She was stuck between perdition and the deep blue sea, unsure of where to turn. And soon she’d have to decide between them.
twenty-seven
GINNY
AUGUST 8
Ginny tried to drown out the cheering around her and focus on the syrup-soaked bit of pancake on the end of her fork.
Then again, given that it was her seventh pancake, maybe that was a bad plan.
Stop whining and open that cargo hold.She did and chewed. Warm, soggy, like a sponge filled with dishwater—hadn’t these been good at one point?
With a flourish, she let her fork clatter to her plate and waved over the volunteer with theSupport the Red Crosssash draped across her neatly tucked-in blouse. “Bring us another!”
