“I know they won’t. But we ain’t got no choice. He got it coming. I wonder what will become of Joyce, though.”

“That all depends on what we do to Odell. Whatever that is, I just hope one of us don’t let nothing slip out to the wrong person so it’ll come back and bite us on the ass,” Milton replied in a worried tone.

“You know I wouldn’t let nothing slip out. And Willie Frank wouldn’t neither.”

“Look, as smart and slick as Odell is—or thinks he is—he let it slip out about that telephone call. Do you think when he done it, he thought he’d say something to the wrong person?”

“As far as we know, the only person he told is Joyce.”

“Exactly. She was the wrong person. She turns around and tells me in front of some of our guests!” Milton fired back. “One of them nurses from the colored clinic was standing close to me. She could have heard something. How do we know she ain’t out there repeating what Joyce said?”

This conversation was wearing me out. “I didn’t think about that,” I mumbled in a tired tone.

“And another thing, what about that comment he made to Dr. Patterson that you heard about how long it took Sheriff Potts to get here after he got that call?”

I dropped my head and stared at the floor. When I looked back up at Milton, I was surprised and mad to see so much contempt in his eyes. “Why you looking all crazy at me? We on the same side.”

His gaze immediately got soft, and so did his tone. “I’m sorry, sugar.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Let’s go to bed.” We went to bed and made love for the first time since our arrest. I didn’t flinch or think about how I’d been raped just a few days ago.

After we finished pleasuring each other, Milton went to the bathroom to clean and dress some of his wounds. The ones on his face didn’t look so bad no more. And they would heal up quicker if he’d stop fiddling with them scabs. The real damage was the footprints on his back where them deputies had stomped him. My arms was still sore from them grabbing me and pinning me down on the ground. They’d busted my bottom lip, but I’d covered the bruises with plum-colored lipstick.

When Milton came back, I turned on the lamp on my nightstand, puffed up my pillows, and propped myself up against the headboard. I was comfortable, but I didn’t like how ominous our shadows looked on the wall. Tonight was the first time they looked so black . . .

“You all right, sugar?” he asked, sliding back under the covers.