Every conversation in the yard stopped.
“Ava, I’m sorry,” I said immediately. “I didn’t see you.”
Her eyes filled with tears almost instantly. “You always do this. You always try to get close to me when nobody’s looking.”
My stomach tightened, because that was no longer an accusation about an accidental bump. That was a sentence with a shape to it. That was a sentence somebody had said out loud before, in a room, to somebody.
I did not understand yet what I was hearing. I want to be honest about that. I only knew the words didn’t fit the crime.
Daniel set down the grill tongs and walked over. “What happened?”
“She shoved me,” Ava said.
“I didn’t.” I looked directly at him. “Daniel, it was an accident.”
He barely hesitated.
“Apologize to her,” he said coldly, “or leave.”
A warm breeze moved through the yard. Someone behind us cleared their throat.
Daniel’s mother lowered her eyes toward the grass.
I have thought about Marlene Whitmore’s eyes more than I have thought about anything else from that day. Twenty-six people in that yard and every one of them was looking at me, and my mother-in-law was the only person on that property studying the lawn.
