along to make you pay for it.”
He picked up a rusted iron washer from his tool tray and began scraping the edge with his pocketknife, refusing to look up at me.
I turned around and walked out of the seed shed, crossing the dark driveway back toward the house.
By eight o’clock, Mason was tucked into his bed with his stuffed dog, and the rest of the farmhouse had grown dark and quiet around us.
Kaylee sat at the yellow Formica kitchen table with her biology textbook open to a double-page chart on cellular genetics. Her maroon hair tie was wrapped around her right wrist, and her blue ballpoint pen moved across her notebook in neat, dark lines.
I filled two stoneware mugs with boiling water from the kettle, dropped a decaf tea bag into each one, and carried them over to the table. I set one mug on
