“The auction was just an excuse,” Debbie says when she comes over the next day to help Baker get organized. “She’s been sleeping with Ian for years.” Ian is Wendy’s ex-husband.

Yes, true, everyone knows this.

Nanette sends Baker a text less than an hour later: I hear you have a place for rent?

He texts back, Just so happens, I do.

On Sunday, Debbie helps Baker clean out his fridge and cabinets. Becky helps him figure out his tax returns. Wendy comes over with her daughters, Evelyn and Ondine, and they play with Floyd while Baker packs Floyd’s suitcase.

Ellen stops by with a goodbye present, a Rawlings alloy baseball bat for his new coaching duties.

“You won’t hit the ball if you don’t swing,” she says.

Baker books tickets for Wednesday. Debbie drives a minivan; she’s going to take Baker and Floyd to the airport after she drops Eleanor and Gale at school.

Monday after school, Baker and Floyd sit in the kitchen eating pizza because Baker doesn’t want to dirty any dishes. It’s ironic that they’re eating pizza, Anna’s favorite meal, when Anna is so far away.

Baker decides to reach out to Anna. He snaps a selfie of himself and Floyd and the sausage and pepperoni pie from Brother’s and texts it to her with the words Miss you, Mom!

She’ll probably respond to the text sometime next week, Baker thinks.

A few minutes later, Baker’s phone beeps and he checks it, expecting Anna’s response to be Okay or Sounds good or maybe even Miss you 2.

The text isn’t from Anna, however. It’s from Cash. Baker reads it, then drops his phone.

Rosie

July 31, 2006

I should have known that telling Mama and Huck had gone too easily.

Mama read my diary and found out about Russell and found out about Irene—and one night after work, I walked in the door expecting to find her asleep or, possibly, waiting up with a plate of chicken, beans, and rice—she was concerned that I wasn’t eating enough for two—but instead she was in the doorway, my diary in her hand, her eyes popping.

“A married man?” she said. “Have you no shame, Rosie?”

I grabbed the diary from her. “Have you no shame?” I asked. I went into my room and slammed the door behind me, my heart cowering in my chest because I had left it exposed and my mother had found it.

I’m going to set the diary on fire, I thought. And if the whole house goes up in smoke, so be it.

There was a light knock on the door and I figured it was Huck, there to try and fix what my mother had broken. But when I opened the door, it was Mama herself. I tried to slam the door in her face but she pushed back—for a second, our eyes locked, and it was a test of strength. I was younger but pregnant; Mama was Mama. Then she put a finger to her lips and I relented.