The other was young and already sweating.
“Michael, darling,” Ashley said brightly.
“You should really turn off location sharing.”
“I manage the phone plan, remember?”
The porch had filled while I wasn’t looking.
Twelve women, a few still holding their dinner plates.
A little girl of maybe seven, pushing a toy truck along the boards, who stopped when the engine noise stopped.
In the doorway stood Loretta Banks, the director, sixty-one, arms folded over an oatmeal cardigan.
She looked like a woman who had thrown out bigger men than any of us.
“This is private property,” she said.
“We won’t be long,” said the gray-haired man. “Garrett Pike, of Pike and Doyle. I represent Ms. Rourke.”
“Loretta,” Emily said quietly.
“Please take the babies inside.”
Loretta did not argue.
She lifted Ruby and Owen out of Emily’s arms as carefully as eggs, and the screen door slapped shut behind her.
