Chapter 7: Locks

Marjorie did not leave.

She hung her coat back on the rack, smoothed her hair, and sat down on my couch next to his sister.

"A family doesn't walk out on each other, Piper," she said. "Not over a misunderstanding. Delaney needs us tonight."

"Then she can need you at the hotel."

"I won't be sent out of my son's home."

"It's my home."

She took out her phone and typed with both thumbs.

Within ten minutes, a car pulled up at the curb.

Then another.

By the time I reached the front window, four women in church coats were walking up my path with foil-covered dishes.

I knew all of them.

They'd come to my baby shower.

The first one reached the porch and called through the screen, "Marjorie says you're having a hard time, hon. We brought supper."

"Thank you," I said, "but you can't come in."

"Oh, Piper."

"I'm not having a hard time. I'm asking your friend to leave my house."

The women glanced at each other and at the neighbor with the casserole, who was still standing in her slippers.

Marjorie spoke from the couch, without raising her voice.

"She's been through a great deal. The doctors say these mood swings are common after a premature birth."

It was a lie told in a kind voice, in front of witnesses.

I understood then what she was doing.

She wasn't trying to stay.

She was trying to make me look like someone who should not be trusted with a baby.

I turned around and said it to the whole room.