I would have helped him do it years ago if I’d known those damn bank access codes.

Ephraim wondered if DJ had the bank codes, and his eyes narrowed. He wouldn’t be surprised. DJ had been sucking up to Pastor—literally and figuratively—ever since he’d been old enough to understand the community’s true power structure.

Ephraim was so deep in thought that he nearly missed the blip on his phone’s screen. He drew a breath, suddenly tense. Rhee was turning onto the county road.

Toward where Eden had existed up until the November before. Up until Miriam ran away, forcing us to move. Fucking hell. Motherfucking hell.

Ephraim found himself stomping on the gas pedal, then forcibly calmed himself. Think. It wouldn’t do to get stopped by the sheriff’s department, because they did patrol.

He didn’t want to have to kill a cop. That got messy and was a lot harder to hide.

So he slowed to the speed limit, making sure he put on his blinker before cautiously turning onto the road that led to the home he’d left behind.

NINETEEN

EDEN, CALIFORNIA

MONDAY, APRIL 17, 1:45 P.M.

Amos was itchy, grateful for Monday. Grateful for work to keep his hands busy, even as his mind whirled. He’d had far too much time to think the day before, it being the Sabbath. No one worked, except those who fed the animals. And the women who cooked for their families, of course.

Amos missed that, having a woman in his household. He hadn’t loved Abigail’s mother, not like he’d grown to love Rhoda, but he’d liked her. Respected her. Had even waited two years to . . . well, consummate their marriage. She’d only been sixteen when her family had brought her into the community, and the thought of touching her then had made Amos physically ill. And she’d been so scared. He hadn’t been able to hurt her, so they’d slept in the same bed for two years, celibate, until she’d turned eighteen. It had still been awkward, but she’d grown to care for him during those two years. He didn’t think she’d loved him either—if an eighteen-year-old was even capable of such love—but she had respected him, too.

It had almost killed him to watch her die after giving birth. But when the healer had put a red-faced, squalling Abigail into his arms, it had been a balm to his soul. A reason to keep going.

One of the other women in the community had been weaning her own baby and had agreed to nurse Abigail for the first year. It had been difficult for Amos, handing his baby over, even to a woman he’d known for years. Especially in the night, when he’d had to take the baby to her and wait for Abigail to finish.

Luckily the healer had sent Brother DJ into town with instructions to buy a breast pump, which Amos had heard of, back in the world, but had never had cause to witness. He’d been only nineteen years old when he’d arrived in Eden.