Kara briefly closes her eyes and shudders. "It was a nightmare. I ran into some wild dogs that did this," she says, motioning to her legs. "But mostly I was so afraid of Gatsbro catching up to me. He was like a madman after Locke smashed his skull with that glass--"

I step away from the wall. "What?"

Miesha stops midway through the door. "You're the one who hit Gatsbro?"

Allys and Jenna pause from their work and turn their heads toward me too. The spotlight intensifies. Seconds stretch the air thin. All gazes are fixed on me, waiting for a response. The air pulls tighter. Kara's eyes bore into me.

"Yes," I answer. The word shoots through the room like a bullet. "It was me."

I watch their uncomfortable gestures, the twitch of Miesha's lip, the tilt of Allys's head, the shift of Jenna's eyes, reactions they work to hide and recover from quickly.

"But he was justified," Kara says. "Gatsbro was holding us prisoner."

"Of course," Jenna says. "Lie back, Kara. Rest. I'm going to give you something to help you."

"But there's so much I--"

"Shh. I know. We'll talk more later." Jenna presses a small tube to Kara's neck, and her lids almost instantly become heavy.

"Jenna," she says, just before she closes her eyes, "I've waited so long for this day. You have no idea...."

Chapter 65

Dinner is quiet and unnatural. Jenna's eyes are unfocused, frequently directed at the blank wall across from her. Allys passes the herbed tomatoes that have already been around three times. Miesha takes another helping, even though she hasn't touched her first one yet. It's like we're all listening for Kara's breathing in the next room.

"She'll sleep through till morning," Jenna says.

My fork clinks against my plate. "Thank you for taking care of her."

"She's my friend too, Locke." I hear the offense.

Only Kayla, who is playing with the snap peas on her plate, and Dot, who is seated next to her, seem oblivious to the weight pressing down on the rest of us. But then Kayla looks up at me, her wide brilliant blue eyes framed in dark, silky hair. She lays her damp stubby fingers on my arm and gently pats it. She turns her head to the side and nods. "Don't worry, Locke. Your friend will be okay."

My stomach squeezes. Her eyes swallow me up with their trust. "If you say so, Kayla, it must be true."

She leans over and kisses my arm.

"Are you done playing with your peas, Kayla?" Jenna asks.

Kayla beams and jumps from her chair like she recognizes the signal of mercy from her mother. She carries her dish to the counter and asks Dot if she wants to play on the porch again. Dot happily obliges.

"I think I'll join them," Miesha says, pushing away from the table. "But I'll do the dishes when the rest of you are finished." Gatsbro had a waterless dishwasher that used sound waves to clean dishes, but Jenna's is broken, and she would rather use her limited funds to put in irrigation for a new garden that will provide both food and income.

Allys stands. "No, I can do--"

"No," Jenna says. "Locke and I will take care of the dishes."

Jenna's eyes drill into me. "Yeah, sure," I say to Miesha and Allys. "Jenna and I will take care of it."

Miesha and Allys exchange a quick glance and leave their dishes on the counter before they walk out the back door to the porch.

Jenna and I silently eat a few more bites. When she rises to take her dishes to the sink, I do the same. She runs hot water and soap into a roasting pan and begins scrubbing it. Water sloshes, and she bangs the pan against the sides of the sink. I reach over and pluck the soapy sponge from her hand and toss it onto the counter.

"We're alone now. Get it off your chest, Jenna, before you kill the pan."

She faces me, wiping her wet hands on her dress, and spits it out without hesitation. "Why did you lie to us about hitting Gatsbro?"

I don't understand why she's so angry. We never talked about it before. It wasn't a detail of our escape I had ever mentioned. "I never told you before that I didn't--"

"I mean now. Tonight. Why did you admit to hitting Gatsbro when you didn't do it? This is my life, Locke. My daughter lives in this house. It's bad enough that I'm dealing with the Network again. I need to know what's going on in my own--"

I grab her arms. "I don't know, Jenna. I didn't see who hit him. No one did. I had lapsed and don't even remember the moment right before it happened. It could have been me. I was angry enough to do it."

"That's not what I saw in your eyes, Locke. I saw you covering."

My hands drop from her arms, and I step away, shaking my head. I'm tired of everyone second-guessing me. I lean against the counter, staring down at the stacks of dirty dishes. "I didn't think it would be such a big deal. That's all I was trying to avoid." I turn back to face her. "She's weak and injured, Jenna. It didn't seem important to correct her right at that moment. That's all. Who cares who hit him?"

She stares at me like she is weighing what I said--or maybe reading something new into it. "Maybe you're right. I suppose it doesn't matter." But then, just as she turns to grab the sponge from the counter, I notice her face. A fragment. A glance. A sliver. Only one of the thousand angles of her face. But it's enough. For a split second, there is something else woven into her face besides worry about my lie. It sinks into my stomach, her micro expression I can't name, but I know shouldn't be there. She averts her eyes so I can't look again and hurries to wash another dish. Too late, Jenna.