He was lying. Imani could see it in his eyes, the way his gaze grew more intent as if scanning her face for signs that she believed him. She remembered what Melissa had told her all those years ago about controlling her own micro-expressions and forced herself to picture a blank wall, to stare at Philip but see something else entirely, an expanse of fresh cement, smoothed like the surface of an undisturbed lake.

“It’s on the hook by the mop, next to my coat,” Imani said, keeping her tone casual. “Go get it for her? Layla was asleep, so she’ll still be at our house by the time we come back.”

Philip’s pupils flitted from her to the knife block that Imani knew was behind her and then the walk-in fridge. He was a combatant weighing his options, she realized, figuring out how to neutralize the threat that she posed.

“We can get it on the way out,” he said.

“All your talk about rats makes me not want to be in that alley. Go get Tonya’s coat while I grab some aspirin, and then we can head out the front door.” Imani added a bit extra breath into her voice to simulate exhaustion. She touched her forehead, mirroring Philip’s common stress response. “The drama of today has given me the worst headache.”

Before he could respond, Imani strode to the far side of the kitchen and the cavernous entryway that she knew led to the pantry. “The medicine’s in here, right?” she yelled over her shoulder as she passed into the adjacent room, navigating by the light from the kitchen outside. Wire shelves were filled with dry goods. Rice. Flour. Clear Tupperware bins of spices labeled with tape and markers.

What she was looking for lined an entire bottom shelf. Giant tins of frying oil were arrayed like glistening sardines in a can. Olive. Sunflower. Peanut.

Imani heard Philip’s footsteps, walking away, doing as she asked. She uncapped the peanut oil, lifted the jug to her lips, and took a large gulp. It tasted unctuous, like pouring liquid soap on her tongue. She forced herself not to spit it out—or swallow.

Philip’s footsteps drew closer. Imani could feel the heat of his presence behind her. She turned around, confirming that he stood in the space between the pantry and kitchen, blocking her exit. Heavy black wool was draped over his forearm. He pulled one of the coats free and held it out to her.

Imani couldn’t speak. She walked over, smiling her thank-you, and wrapped her arms around Philip’s waist. She put her head on his chest. Tears filled her eyes as his arm went around her back. She concentrated on the warmth of his hand running up and down her spine, trying to commit the feeling to memory, knowing that she might not feel it again.