Chapter 22: June Knew

June was at the stove when I came in, in her barn coat, frying eggs.

The kitchen smelled of coffee and bacon.

The wall phone hung beside the refrigerator, tan and old, with its curled cord looped twice over a nail.

I had passed it a thousand times.

I set Maggie's car seat on the table and stayed standing.

"You're up early," June said, without turning. "I thought you were at the hospital with that girl."

"I was."

"Sit down and eat."

"Where were you standing," I said, "when Boone called Rafe from this phone?"

The spatula stopped moving.

The eggs went on spitting in the pan.

June didn't turn around.

For a long time she didn't do anything at all.

Then she reached out and turned off the burner.

"Who told you that?"

"Does it matter?"

"No," June said. "I don't suppose it does."

She slid the pan to the back of the stove and wiped her hands on a dish towel.

When she faced me, her whole face had gone slack and old.

"I was standing right where I'm standing," she said.

I had expected a denial.

I had expected tears.

I hadn't expected the plain answer, and it hurt more than a denial would have.

"You heard him."

"I heard every word."

"You heard him tell Rafe I'd picked him."

"I heard him say you were afraid of Rafe's temper." Her voice was perfectly level.

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