He raised his eyes to mine. There was panic in them — the panic of a man backed into a corner.
Diane smiled. “See? Your wife is making you choose.”
He didn’t look at her. He threw the sleep pants onto the couch, walked over, and took her arm. “Mom. I’m taking you home.”
Diane froze. “Jake—”
“It’s late.” He pulled the door open. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
The night wind poured in. I stood in the entryway in nothing but my nightgown.
He kept his hand on her arm the whole way down the steps — half pushing, half helping.
Diane stopped at the edge of the driveway and looked back at me through the screen door.
That look wasn’t surrender.
It was a look that said the real fight hadn’t even started.
I reached for the door lock. The broken cylinder wobbled under my fingers and wouldn’t catch.
