“It made Rachel mad that Abram won’t let her talk to you, and now they’re arguing again.”

Tia sat up straighter. “It should set her off. He has no right to decide who she can talk to and who she can’t.”

“He’s her husband!” her mother cried as if he had every right.

“That doesn’t make him her prison warden!”

“Listen to you! Listen to how you’re talking! We taught you better than this.”

She let her head fall against the steering wheel. She could try to explain, but her mother would never understand. She’d assume that Tia was in the wrong, that the devil had hardened her heart and made her reject their beliefs and traditions.

“Tia?” her mother said.

Tia summoned as much calm as she could muster. “Never mind. I won’t try to call her again.”

“You could write her a letter. I don’t think anyone could have any complaint about that.”

“So Dad and Abram could read it and censor it before giving it to her? No, thanks.” She almost hung up but stopped herself at the last second. “Before Dad gets mad at you for talking to me, can I ask you one question?”

Her mother hesitated. “What is it?”

“Have you told anyone where I am?”

“Told anyone? Like who? Our friends all know you’re in LA. They knew where you were going when you left.”

“I’m not talking about Mennonites, Mom. I’m talking about the paparazzi.”

“The what?”

Tia felt ridiculous for even asking. Her mother couldn’t have contacted Ray Kouretas. She had limited access to technology, didn’t even own a TV anymore. Naomi wasn’t sophisticated enough to figure out how to find him. “There’s a man named Kouretas. Ray Kouretas. Have you ever heard of him?”

“No. Never.”

“What about Rachel?” Tia said. Every once in a while, her sister pushed through the oppression. It wasn’t beyond belief that she’d picked up a copy of The Lowdown, or seen one at the grocery store they frequented on occasion, and asked the checker to Google the number for her. From there, the receptionist at the magazine could’ve patched her through to Kouretas.

“Tia, Rachel wouldn’t know him, either. What business would she have with a strange man? Why are you trying to start trouble?”

She could hear screaming in the background and knew that her mother hadn’t been stretching the truth when she’d said that Rachel and Abram were having one of their many arguments. “I’m not trying to cause trouble,” she said and hung up.

She sat there for a few minutes before picking up her phone again, this time so that she could send a text message to her sister’s husband:

Did you do it?

But, of course, he was otherwise occupied, so she received no response.