“You have no idea what you are doing, Evelyn,” he whispered.

“I know exactly what you did,” I said.

“You don’t know anything,” he said.

He tried to push past me, but Claire was already moving toward the back door that led to the garage.

“Mom, now,” she called out.

I turned and ran after her, the soles of my shoes slipping slightly on the kitchen tile.

Behind us, we heard the heavy thud of Richard’s boots as he started to follow.

We scrambled into the garage.

The air was freezing, smelling of gasoline and old lawnmowers.

Claire hit the button for the automatic garage door.

The motor groaned, and the heavy wooden door began its slow rise.

We got into my sedan.

I jammed the key into the ignition and twisted it.

The engine roared to life just as the garage door cleared the top of our windshield.

In the rearview mirror, I saw the door to the kitchen fling open.

Richard stood in the frame, his face pale, his mouth twisted into a shout we couldn’t hear over the engine.