Chapter 4

You feel guilty when you look down where you’re using a knife to scrape out the grime from the ruts in the counter top. You’re that bored.

“I’m just busy,” you say. “I’ll call you later.”

“No, you won’t.” You both sit on the phone for a few seconds, listening to each other breathe, and before you can repeat yourself, she says, ‘‘I’m corning over. We’ve got to talk.”

Sherry’s up front. “You can’t do that,” you whisper. “Look, I’ll call you later. I can’t talk now—I’m working.”

But she hangs up the phone, and as you replace the receiver, a feeling of dread creeps into your stomach and spreads like heartburn. The back door’s open, and within five minutes you hear a car drive up around the back of the deli. Without looking, you know it’s got to be her. She knocks on the screen door. “Josey,” she says, “let me in.”

You stare at her from the other side of the screen. “You know I can’t do that.”