“Your phone’s call log is on a warrant, son.”
It was so quiet that I could hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen.
Kristen had taken one slow step back from her husband.
She was staring at him as if she had never seen him before.
“Craig,” she whispered. “You told me she agreed. You said she’d signed everything.”
“Kris —”
“You said it was handled.” Her voice rose. “You said Brookhaven was her idea!”
“Kris, please —”
“I didn’t know.” She turned, wild-eyed, to the room, to Pastor Joyce, to the Fentons, to me. “I swear to God, I didn’t know.”
No one answered her.
The gold bracelet slid down her wrist, and for the first time it looked like just a heavy chain.
Craig swung back toward our mother.
His whole face had come apart.
“I did it for you, Mom. You’d be taken care of. Brookhaven is the best —”
