“For how long?”

“As long as I want,” he says. “As it turns out, flunking out of med school costs the same as if you graduate, so I need to pay back those loans. I also plan to go back to school. I will become a surgeon, Jewelann. It’s all I ever wanted, and I’m going to make it.”

“I was going to sell the house,” I say, my voice faint.

Christian rolls his eyes. “Good luck. There was a dead kid buried in the backyard for a decade, and your husband did God knows what to other kids here. The place is in shit shape, even if you get the plumbing fixed. Who’s going to buy it from you?”

I crumble. I sag. He has a point, but that doesn’t mean he’s right.

I straighten. “Look, with Ken gone, Eli and I have no reason to stay here. The bank can take the house. I don’t care. I’ll figure out something, and it doesn’t include getting caught up in your drug dealing. We’re out of here, and I want you out of my life, and my son’s. You have nothing to hold over us.”

“Oh, I think I might. See, I know the truth about who really killed that kid and who really buried him.” Christian slides his tongue along his grin-bared teeth.

“You don’t know anything.”

He shakes his head, moving toward me. His expression is faux-sympathetic. He clucks his tongue. “I know everything. Eli told me all about it. The nail gun. The workshop. How you buried his little buddy in the yard and never told anyone about what happened to him, not even when his parents came to the house wailing and gnashing their teeth. He says you told him you’d protect him. Ken’s out there telling everyone he didn’t bury that kid, and turns out, he’s telling the truth, huh? What do you think will happen if I tell the police?”

“Christian?”

We both turn. Eli stands in the kitchen doorway. He frowns.

“You swore you’d never tell anyone about that,” Eli says.

Christian shrugs. “Just trying to make sure your mom understands what’s going on.”

“She was there that day. She already knows. But you said you wouldn’t tell. I trusted you.” Eli’s expression ripples. Anger. Disappointment. Sorrow.

“Look, kid—”

His words are cut off when Eli rushes at him. The punch lands soft, clipping Christian’s jaw without enough force to do more than send him back a step. Christian rubs the spot where Eli’s fist connected.

“Watch it,” Christian warns.

Eli is breathing hard. Both fists clenched. “You promised. But I guess my mom’s right. You’re nothing but a liar. I guess you were lying about wanting to be with us? Being a family?”

Christian’s laughter is harsh and barking. He sneers. “I had a vasectomy when I was twenty, long before you were conceived.”

“What?” I blurt.

“After you,” he says, “I wanted to be sure there was no way I was ever going to … that I could never …”