He rolled down the window. He didn’t look at me. “I can’t get in the middle of this. I’ve been divorced from your mother for ten years. Nobody listens to me.”
“What are you so scared of?” I gripped the edge of his window. “Dad, what does she have on you?”
“Some things I can’t say.” His voice dropped. “You need to get out of here while you still can. The sooner, the better.”
The car drove away.
Another car pulled into the yard. June. She stepped out holding a plastic bag, saw me standing there, and smiled. “Mia? Standing out in the breeze? Good timing—I need to fill you in on the doctor.”
“What doctor?” I asked.
“The psychiatrist.” Her smile was sweet. “I got her booked. She’ll come by tomorrow morning to see you. Don’t be scared. It’s just a chat.”
“I’m not sick,” I said.
“Nobody said you’re sick.” She carried the bag inside. “So what are you afraid of?”
