My voice was barely louder than the hum of the cicadas outside.

Juliette froze, her pen hovering over the paper.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, her voice losing its sweet tone.

I held up my phone so she could see the screen.

“Who sent you that?” she whispered, her face suddenly turning pale.

The delivery man cleared his throat.

He looked down at his boots, then back at the heavy bag in his hands.

“Look, I just need a signature on the line,” he said, tapping his thumb against the plastic clipboard.

Juliette did not look at him.

Her eyes remained locked on the glowing screen of my phone.

“It doesn’t matter who sent it,” I said, keeping my hand steady so she could read every digit.

“Just sign for your food and let him go, Juliette.”

She snatched the black plastic pen from the man’s hand.

She scribbled a jagged line across the screen of his electronic pad and threw the stylus onto the porch table.

The delivery man did not wait.