More than Agnes’s, by the look of it. I take off my sneakers and lace the boots. A bit loose, but they’ll protect my feet if I drop a rock. Wearing a dead guy’s boots ... never done that before.

In her normal, no-nonsense voice, Della tells me where she wants the rocks piled, and I go to it. I soon get into a rhythm, my muscles gradually warming up, sort of like running. Doubt if I could have done this two weeks ago. The rocks are heavy, but I’m moving them, sorting and piling them according to size and shape.

Best I’ve felt the last twenty-four hours.

Mid-afternoon, Della brings me a glass of water, checks what I’ve done, then gazes at me thoughtfully. “You’re stronger than you look,” she says. “I have a pamphlet on building a stone wall that I printed off the Internet. Would you read it before you start rebuilding? If you do the grass tomorrow, you could work on the wall over the weekend.”

“Providing Cassie can stay at Marigold’s.”

“Let me know.”

If I still needed the money, I’d be one happy dude. I drain the water glass, pass it back, and heave more rocks off the wall, big ones I wasn’t sure I could manage. Then I up-end the ones on the bottom row. By now, it looks like a minor earthquake hit the backyard. But Della’s happy. “I’ll warn Agnes not to walk out here,” she says briskly. “Shall I pay you when you’re finished, so we can total the hours?”

A nice guy, a decent guy, would ask her right now if Tully could mow the lawn. But if I save more money, don’t I have more options? I could quit school the December I turn sixteen and get a job in Halifax. Put Cassie in daycare. Or catch the train to Toronto and ask Kendra to keep us until I find a job there.

Sure. And deal with kidnapping charges in my spare time. If I took Cassie to Halifax—or Toronto—even Opal would eventually realize we were gone. Floyd sure would. No punching bags.

Just the same, I’m going to bank every cent I can get my hands on.

Della says patiently, “Is that all right, Brick?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She walks away, ramrod-straight in her baggy trousers. I leave the boots in the shed, drive across the road again, and tuck the ATV into the trees by Rolf’s garage. I should repaint it in a camouflage pattern.

9.3 [tattletale]