Chapter 16: The Lyles

"I signed once, to live," I said. "The only thing I did on purpose was stop."

Lance's lawyer was on his feet shouting.

The judge's gavel came down twice, hard.

"Mr. Lyle, you will be quiet. Counsel, sit. Ms. Hartwell, thank you. You may step back."

I stepped back.

Brice's hand found my elbow, and I felt how cold my own fingers were.

"I will rule on bail by Monday morning," the judge said. "Mr. Lyle will remain in custody until then. We are adjourned."

Two deputies took Lance by the arms.

He didn't fight them.

At the side door he turned his head and kept his eyes on me until the door cut him off.

Mrs. Lyle was crying into her gloves.

Mr. Lyle sat with the cane across his knees and didn't move, and I walked past him without a word.

They came to Rhonda's house at six.

A black sedan, then a second car with the lawyer in it.

I had told them no lawyer.

I let them in anyway, because Rhonda stood in the front door and said the lawyer could wait on the porch with the heat.

The Lyles sat at Rhonda's kitchen table on her plastic-covered chairs.

Mrs. Lyle kept her purse in her lap.

Mr. Lyle took off his hat, and then, awkwardly, his gray coat, and laid it over his knee.

Brice stood at the counter with his arms crossed.

Rhonda put a pot of coffee on the table and a plate of store-bought cookies, and no one touched either.

"Miss Hartwell," Mr. Lyle said. "Is it true?"

"Which part?"

"All of it. The dates. The way you said it."

"Yes."

"How?"

"I don't know the how, Mr. Lyle. Three years ago I was dying, and somebody offered me a deal."

"A deal," Mrs. Lyle said.

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