“Nothing else.” My coffee is too sour, and I search around for sugar. “You don’t tell him much, you know.”

“I tell him plenty.”

“He wanted to know more about you. About your past.”

Energy crackles from every part of her—the same fire—but she is so much more in control of it than she used to be.

“You said you needed help last night. With what?” Her teeth sound tight, as if she’s clamped them with wire.

“Everything.” I lean in. This is it. The defining moment. “I’m in trouble, Alex. I mean it. I’m in danger.”

“You’re having a baby in a few short months, you mean. And you have no money.”

“It’s more than that. I left in a hurry. I had to. I didn’t bring much with—”

“Why?” Her eyes are a sea storm gathering. “Why did you leave in such a hurry? What are you on the run from this time?”

My fingertips drift to my temple, where I smooth my hair forward to cover my bruise. How deftly I thought I was stealing away from that house, how clever I thought I’d been. But Eli knew everything, predicted my every move, and he was waiting for me. He cared more about money than he did about me. I’d misjudged my importance all over again. Old habits die hard.

“Look, I took a bit of a wrong turn. I did something hasty—I’ll admit it—and it might not have been the smartest thing, and now I’m—”

“Does Hal know you’re here?” She slams down that sentence so hard that it clangs in my ears. She’s stuck on the Hal thing again, looping around and around in her head that he drank too much beer when he was meant to be working, that he threw rocks at stray dogs. Never mind all the other things she constructed in her head. That was ten years ago, and she’s still talking about it like it was yesterday! The truth is that Hal was never only one thing. Nobody ever is.

“No, I told you. I left him a long time ago.”

“How did you find me?”

“Facebook.” I feel tired. I want to lie down.

“I sent you messages years ago,” she says, pointing an accusatory finger in my face to punctuate her outrage. “To let you know when Mom died. And the same with Dad. And you didn’t respond. Now you show up?”

I shrug, fighting the urge to put my forehead on the table. I wasn’t in the right place then to respond to her messages. What could I have done for her or anyone?

“Do you know what they died of, Ruth? Our parents?” Her eyes sear right through me. “Pain and fucking misery.”

What does she expect me to say? I never meant to hurt our parents. Did she?