Kenny. So casual, so intimate. I’ve never even called him that, but let’s face it, she seems to know more about my husband than I do.

I disconnect without even thanking her. I shove the phone into my pocket. I turn toward the septic guys.

“Change of plans. You’re going to have to leave. I’m not authorizing you to do this.” I sound calmer than I feel.

They look at each other. Shrug. They don’t care, and why should they? It’s just a job to them. They probably get paid by the hour, not whether they pump the tank. They trundle their equipment back to the truck and leave.

I call Ken.

Ken does not answer.

Eli will be home from school in a couple of hours. I need to get myself together before he does. Christian is going to abandon him, and I know all too well how devastating that can be. I’ll need to be there for my son with my own head on straight, and how will I manage to do that?

One thing at a time.

There’s a pale, gauzy haze around everything I see, and a faint whooshing in my ears that covers up the pounding of my heart. I blink rapidly and focus on my breathing, in and out, until I stop feeling like I’m going to keel over.

First, I check my garden. Boot prints stamp the dirt. A few horseradish leaves are bent and broken, but horseradish is notoriously hardy. I pat the plants back into place. They’ll survive. Several garlic bulbs have been brought up to the surface, so I tuck them back into the dirt.

I sit back on my heels with my fingers going numb in the freezing soil. This garden … it has made all the difference in my life. This garden has literally saved my family. I’ve hated it, the work it takes, the person it has made me, but I can’t deny that without it, we would have fallen apart long ago.

Weeping, I let my face fall into my hands. I don’t care about the dirt on them. It will stain my face. I’ll wash it off. I’ll wash it all away.

“Jewelann?”

“Fuck off, Christian.”

“What did you tell them? The detectives?” He crouches next to me, his hand on my shoulder.

I jerk my entire body away from his touch. “Leave me alone. They weren’t even asking about you. They wanted to ask Ken some questions about some kind of investigation.”

“Shit,” he says.

Frowning, I look him over. “Do you know something about it?”

“No. Of course not. I mean … he got some stuff from me.” He stands.

I stand, too, thinking of the night Ken snuck across the yard. “Ken got ‘stuff’ from you? But he never, he doesn’t …”

“Hey, I don’t ask what anyone wants it for. I just supply it.” He shakes his hands in front of me as he backs away. “Just forget about it, okay?”