“You warned me,” Rudy said. “That’s true. And I’m warning this fucking yuppie that he better take care of these trees or he’s going to wish he did.” He had time to spit on the ground before the deputy wrestled him down, shoved a knee into his back, and cuffed him.

The deputy glanced up at me, breathing heavily. “Get into the squad car, Miss Conley, if you please.”

“Make a run for it,” Rudy said, his face pressed into the grass.

“Be smart. I know where you live,” said the deputy. I walked toward the car, but Rudy went limp and had to be dragged. His bootheels left long muddy streaks across the sidewalk.

The principal had come down to the edge of his yard to oversee the operations. He watched us sadly, with his hands folded behind him, certainly the same pose he struck while giving Perley laughing lessons. I opened the door to the sheriff’s car, but thought of commentary and conduct, thought of what I’d said or done since the moment the deputy arrived, which was exactly nothing. I turned back to the principal. “Remember that they need plenty of water when they’re young like this,” I told him. “Gallons and gallons. Remember to mulch them before it gets cold, cover them when it freezes. Remember to prune them in the spring.” It wasn’t shooting the .22, not even into the air, but it was something.

The squad car pulled away, with Rudy cursing and twisting in his seat, and I turned to look out the back window. I could see the principal down on his knees in his wrinkle-free slacks. He hadn’t even bothered to get a shovel. He was ripping the fruit trees out of the ground with his bare hands.

The sun was coming up as Rudy and I were ushered into separate cells. They made me take off my boots and jacket, so I sat there shivering on the cement bench staring through the glass into the outer room where clerks answered phones and itemized the contents of inmates’ pockets: cell phone, cigarettes, penny, baby sock, lotto card, rolling papers, rubber band, receipt, car key, stub of pencil, same stuff as people who weren’t in trouble with the law.

There was a pay phone on the cell wall, and I called collect. I crossed my fingers that Lily and Karen had the landline plugged in, hoped that there was enough electricity to run it, but the previous day had been cloudy. Karen picked up on the third ring, and I heard her accept the charges.

“We already heard from Rudy,” she said. “I can’t say I understand or appreciate it, but I think I get the picture. So what do you want us to do?”

“I just wanted you to know where I am,” I said. “There’s this phone here, on the wall.”