“I . . .” Every time she started to explain, the words curled up. She was afraid it would sound like trivial school nonsense, rather than a period of her life that had affected and changed her so profoundly. “I just don’t trust him.”

“You don’t even know him!” He jabbed a finger at his chest. “I know him now. And you trust me, don’t you?”

His question made something tighten inside her. It suddenly felt like the worst part of all of this, that the answer was no longer, Of course I do. Always. Unreservedly.

“You’ve only known him a few weeks,” she said.

“Long enough! I feel like I’ve known him all my life. Except I haven’t, of course. You made sure of that.”

“If you’d known him all your life maybe you wouldn’t have such a high opinion of him.”

“Don’t you think people change?” Zeb raised his voice. “Is it one strike and you’re out with you?”

“That’s not fair.”

“In your text you said you were going to tell the police on him!”

“Well, I was scared!”

As she flung it out there, she realized how true it was. The last few days, and even the weeks before that, had been underscored by fear. She thought of her conversation with the police officer, left unfinished when she’d spotted Zeb, and wondered whether they would follow it up. Whether she wanted them to, now she’d seen how furious Zeb was.

Her admission seemed to stall him, though. No matter how angry, she was heartened to see that the idea of her being frightened bothered him. She took the opportunity to step closer, brush his arm. He no longer smelled of aftershave but of something DIY-related, like WD-40.

“I don’t want us to fall out,” she said. “Especially with everything that’s been happening to our neighbors.” She watched his face as she said this, pained again that she felt the need to. He was looking at the floor. “You’re so precious to me, Zeb. But it’s just been so . . . disturbing. Things through the post. Silent phone calls—”

“The calls were me.”

She withdrew. “What?”

Zeb squared his shoulders, but his cheeks had reddened and he couldn’t meet her eye. “I’ve been calling you.”

Her heart began to thump. “And . . . hanging up?”

He pressed his fist to his Adam’s apple, rubbing the stubbly skin there.

“I just wanted to talk,” he said gruffly.

“You can talk to me anytime, Zeb.”

“Not about Dad. We’ve never been able to talk about him. Even the Freya thing. It’s been on my mind, but . . .” He scratched harder, at his chin now.