Chapter 9: Ninety-Nine Point Nine

"Put it down," Mom said again.

"No."

"Virginia, that belongs to this family."

"It says Landry. We're Stovalls."

She stepped closer, through the broken dish, and shoes crunched on glass.

Her hand shot out for my fist.

I stepped back and the front door opened behind me.

Luke came in.

He did not hurry, and he did not say a word.

He only walked down the hall and stood at my shoulder, tall and quiet, between my mother and me.

Mom looked up at him.

"This is private property. Get out of my house."

"Ma'am, I came for Ginny."

"She is a child."

"She's eighteen," Luke said, in a very even voice. "Which means she gets to walk out."

The garage door ground open again.

Dad's car pulled in behind the minivan, and a minute later he was in the doorway, his tie loose, a grocery bag in one hand.

He saw the broken dish and the three of us.

He saw the bracelet.

The grocery bag slid down his arm and landed on the floor.

"Brenda," he said hoarsely.

"Not now, Donald."

"Is that."

"I said not now."

I had never heard my father speak to my mother in a voice that was anything but careful.

Now he looked ill.

His eyes met mine for the first time in years.

"Ginny," he said. "I'm sorry."

"For what, Dad?"

His mouth worked.

"Donald," Mom said, and it was nearly a hiss.

He closed his mouth.

I watched my father go gray and quiet, and I understood that he knew.

He had known something for a long time.

"I'm going now," I said.

"If you walk out with that," Mom said, "you will not be welcome in this house again."

"You already locked the door."

"Ginny, please. Let me explain it properly. Sunday, with the pastor. We'll have a meal."

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