Before he left, he made sure I was set. Here was the property tax bill. Anthony would pay it when he paid the utilities. Here was the water filter system. It needed to be changed in six weeks. He’d have called Franco to do it, but the number was on the—


“You can’t go.”


We were in the laundry room. Its base functionality seemed absurd against the backdrop of my husband going to war. How dare the washing machine be white when this was happening. Fuck you, dryer, for being half an inch higher. The basket of clothespins was a slap in the face, and the steady hush of the water heater was a mockery.


Caden looked green in the fluorescent light, and his eyes were flat gray. He looked as if he were dead already.

“I knew I could get called.”


“You were tricked.”


He smiled ruefully. Even green, he was beautiful. Too brilliant to be conned, too loyal to go back on a promise. He put his hands on my shoulders and slid them down to my biceps.