He doesn’t apologize, only goes on with his lecture. “We schedule these tests in advance for a reason. You were supposed to be here an hour ago. I don’t know if we can fit you in until—” I hear papers rustling over the phone. “Until next week at the earliest.”

“Never mind. I’m not coming in for the test,” I say, and end the call.

“Come on, Mommy,” Sonia says. “It’s your turn to feed Aristotle.”

“If Aristotle eats any more carrots, Miss Sharon’s going to have a mess on her hands. And guess who she’ll ask to clean out the stable?” I say.

“It’s called mucking, Mommy.” Sonia looks absolutely ecstatic at the idea of spending an afternoon raking horse manure. Good for her, I think.

“Can I be a vet when I grow up?” she says.

“Maybe. Lots of school, though. You up for that?”

“You did it, Mom,” Steven says.

I think my heart might explode, and I know I made the right decision. “I’m going back to the house, okay?” I say, and leave, wiping my cheeks with the backs of my hands. The left side burns, although not nearly as much since Lin went to work redoing the bandaging. Still, the salt stings.

Lorenzo is sitting on the rear bumper of the van, looking out toward the road, waiting.

“Well?” he says when I join him.

“I can’t go without the kids.”

“Poe says you have to. Even if”—he pauses, as if he doesn’t want to say my husband’s name—“even if Patrick succeeds, nothing’s going to change overnight. They have our names. They’ve got pictures. We need to get out of the country.”

“Where is Poe, anyway?” I say, changing the subject. My mind’s made up—I need six passports, not one.

“He left with your husband,” Lorenzo says. Then, looking up: “Speak of the devil.”

Patrick’s car comes at us like a runaway train, skidding to a stop next to the van. A dust cloud rolls over the ground as the driver’s-side door swings open, and Poe climbs out.

The passenger door does not swing open.

“Where’s Patrick?” I say. “Where the hell is he?”

Poe responds by yelling at Lorenzo. I hear every other word: Go. Lin. Stop. Bleeding. Tried. Help. No. Time.

My brain fills in the rest, and I jerk the rear door open, hitting the side of the van. The noise is a dull thud. Inside me, there’s screaming, one long and final scream that draws itself out and finally breaks into nothing.

“What happened to him?” I say, but I don’t need to ask.

Chapter Seventy-nine

SEVENTY-NINE