She knocked, then pushed the front door open. The television was on in the den, but Trudy was in the kitchen sweeping up shattered glass, a wad of paper towels wrapped around her left hand.

“Let me see.” Violet’s voice was quiet.

“It’s okay.” Trudy averted her eyes. “I just dropped a jar and cut my hand.”

“Mm-hmm.” She took the broom from Trudy’s hands and propped it against the wall, then peeled the paper towels back. Blood seeped from the cut in tiny red dots. “It’s not too deep,” she murmured. “I’ll get a bandage.”

“It’s okay, Vi. I’m fine.” Trudy grabbed a clean paper towel and pressed it to her hand, then took up the broom again. “You should leave. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“It’ll probably be a while.”

When he was in town, Jay often spent evenings at the Showboat, the notorious houseboat docked just outside the city limits of Sugar Bend that allowed gambling on the bottom floor and offered an assortment of ladies upstairs.

“But I’ll leave now if you’ll come with me,” Violet added.

Trudy shook her head. Her hair was shorter now but still thick, blonde, and lovely. Even with Jay’s marks on her and the faint purple hollows under her eyes, her beauty still shone. It was burnished, but it was there.

“You can come home with me.”

“And what?” Trudy asked, incredulous. “Just stay there? He’ll know I’m with you.”

“We could leave a bus schedule on the table. Make him think you hopped on a Greyhound and left town alone.”

It was a flimsy plan, and Violet knew it wouldn’t work. Sugar Bend was a small town, and Jay knew everyone—and everyone knew him, or at least knew who he was. There was no way to hide from him, but all Violet cared about at the moment was getting Trudy away long enough to put a plan together. A plan that would protect Trudy for good.

Trudy swept the last of the glass and dumped it in the trash. In the den Magnum, P.I. started with its familiar guitar intro and helicopter swooping down over the water. Trudy and Jay’s house was simple and homey—soft pillows on the couch, books on the shelves, a kitchen window overlooking their wide backyard that stretched down to the river. But the details hid an ugly truth.

Trudy was a prisoner with a very cruel guard.

Violet left alone that night, as she always did, and Trudy remained behind, waiting for her husband’s return and praying he’d come home with a little extra money in his pocket. That, they both knew, would bring back his friendly smile and maybe even a softness in his touch, which was much better than the alternative.

She promised Trudy she’d be back soon, but as she drove away, Violet wondered how much longer she could do this. How long would she try to convince her sister to see reality, to make a change, before she had to accept that Trudy was a grown woman and could make her own choices? How long was she tied to the promise she’d made to her mother years ago?