We sat around the kitchen table eating dinner. Josh and Blaise volunteered to watch the horses while they grazed, to allow both Jonah and me to eat in the house—a rarity.
Pops put his fork on his plate that had contained a small piece of grilled steak and half a potato. “We can’t stay here,” he said.
“What?” Charlotte said, looking up at him.
“We can’t stay here,” Pops repeated.
“I think she wanted you to explain what you meant, not just say the words again,” Nonie said from her place between Charlotte and Pops.
“We haven’t got water; this house is too darn cold. We have a lunatic next door. We need to leave,” Pops said, leaning back in his wheelchair.
Quint looked at his father. “Where would we go, Dad? Your house?”
Pops shook his head. “No, our house would be no better,” he said.
