“We don’t do that to a guest,” said Will, shaking his head reproachfully and sliding an arm around Abegail’s shoulders. “We’ll sleep on the trundle couch in the living room and give her the bedroom.”
Martha was stirred by such an anger that she could have spit in Will’s face. But she was just barely able to contain the shouting and swearing of that inner voice inside her. She was suddenly afraid of this feeling of madness.
“Oh yes, that’s what we’ll do,” she could hardly pronounce these words because her stomach had shrunk to the size of a fist.
The night followed and enveloped her on the way home. She only heard the laughter of the two figures walking in front of her, as if opaque black wings concealed them. The fear climbed up from her stomach into her throat, choking her. They didn’t
