Working in ninety-degree weather in a coat and jeans has me so hot black blobs dance in my vision. With the fresh hay spread, I need a break. I walk over to the shade of the chicken coop where Ethan has sought out shade. He sits cross-legged behind the coop with a chicken on his lap. He’s stroking the thing like a dog. I shoo away the skinny bird. She scuttles off, throwing up feathers and squawking at me.

“These chickens look sickly. Don’t touch them.” I feel bad for my crankiness. Is it the heat and or my burning jealousy?

“They’re nice,” he says. Then his eyes slide to the slanted shadow on the porch. “Riley,” he whispers, “that old man keeps staring at me.”

I follow his eyes to Bennett’s father, who’s leaning against the porch rail. Why is he so fixed on my brother? Ethan’s a cute kid, sure. People sometimes marvel at his blue eyes or the way he asks a question that everyone’s thinking. But this old man’s not watching him with wonder or fascination. He tracks him like a hawk tracks a rabbit.

I squat down next to Ethan and whisper, “If you notice anything, if you even get a strange feeling, we’re out of here. I don’t care how much Clay trusts Bennett. We can find Mama without him.”

Ethan nods and lets his fingers stroke a passing hen before he remembers my scolding. “Gives me the creeps, Riley. That’s all.”

“Me, too,” I say. “Me, too.”

When the sun sags low in the west, we call it a day. It’s been over a week since I’ve done a full day’s chores and my muscles ache. I’m sweaty and gross under my heavy coat, but there’s no bath in sight. It doesn’t matter. No one here would notice body odor over the thick smell of waste and decay inside the house.

Bennett sets out crusts of bread and muddy water and then limps to bed. Even with help, the farm work has wrung him out. A wave of pity washes over me. Their life is punishingly hard and working their fingers to the bone might not be enough. Somehow Arn made life on our farm manageable. The image flashes into my head of Arn’s lean figure standing on the porch after a long day’s labor. The sadness sticks in my throat. I swallow it down with a gulp of cloudy water. I gag and set the glass down. The water’s vile, a taste between wet shoe and rusty pipe. How did Ethan gulp down so much when he came in earlier? It probably made him sick. That’s why he’s already in bed.

Clay slumps into a chair next to me. The hairs on my arms start to tingle and I realize this is the first time we’ve been alone together. Stop it. I focus on trying to identify the lumpy brown mush smeared on the tabletop.

He gulps his water, makes a face and then looks at me. He points to the coat. “You wore that thing all day? Jesus. Bet you’re dying under there. You can take it off. Ben doesn’t care you’re a bender.”