"I'll sit in my regular seat, thank you." Ruby set the cane aside and dragged a chair out. Eased herself into it, making a good show of quivering each one of her limbs and grunting as she eased her bony rump onto the frilly, flower-printed cushion.

Martin glanced at the window. It was difficult to tell if Ruby was visible from wherever Clarabelle had situated herself. Unless the woman was on the front porch of the house across the street, he doubted it.

"Wouldn't you rather sit in the sun, Ma?"

"It's six in the morning. If I was concerned about sunlight I'd have stayed in bed."

He sighed and helped Sheila with plating the food. "You want yours zipped, Ma?"

"I've put my teeth in. I'll avoid the mush today, thank you."

They brought the food over and everyone tucked in. For several minutes the only sounds were knives scraping on crisp toast, cutlery clinking on plates and Ruby's noisy chewing.

Sheila and Martin ate uneasily, aware this would be their last meal. The food didn't have much taste anyhow. Grease and salt and runny egg the texture of snot. It was all Martin could do to hold it down, and Sheila looked queasy herself.

He glanced again into the dark foyer over his mother's shoulder. Shot another fretful glance out the window.

"Are you expecting someone?" Ruby said, gobs of chewed toast on her tea-stained teeth that didn't look like her too-white dentures. "You keep looking out the window as if you're awaiting a package."

He was caught unaware. The lie sounded like it. "Oh, uh, the mechanic said he'd tow the car over once he was done with it. Kinda need it if we're gonna get moving."

"Quite eager to leave Norma and I in the dust, are you?"

He shrugged. "It's a long drive, Ma."

"If they even get a replacement ferry running," Norma said, sopping up yolk with her toast. "You might be stuck here another day or two, depending."

Sheila gave him a fretful glance.

"Well, I guess we'll have to see."

Ruby watched the exchange with a glint of mischief in her eye, her lips pursed.

She knows we're lying. She's just waiting for one of us to slip up and say something stupid. Does she know everything, though? Does she know about Barclay and rifle?

A horrible thought came on the heels of this, so sudden it made him drop his fork.

Growing up, he'd always thought his mother had eyes on the back of her head. She seemed to have a preternatural sense of when he was getting into trouble with his friends, when he was tracking dirt into the house or trying to sneak cookies from the jar on the highest shelf of the cupboard, or an extra sliver of strawberry-rhubarb pie from the pan.

He'd assumed all mothers had such powers, as most children did. Everyone thought their mother was always one step ahead of them. But after what Ethel had done at the memorial he wondered, What if she really can read my mind?