Should I tell her about the recorder?

No. Lydia was an attorney.

She would tell me it was inadmissible under Rhode Island’s wiretapping laws.

But I did not care about admissibility in a standard court room right now.

I cared about leverage.

I wanted the truth on tape, and I wanted Vivian to know I had it.

I spent the rest of the afternoon preparing.

I walked June around the living room, singing to her, trying to keep my hands from shaking.

The rain began to fall against the glass, a steady, gray sheet obscuring the cliffs.

Night came quickly, cold and dark.

I barely slept, lying awake with June cradled in my arm, watching the shadows flicker across the ceiling.

The morning came with a cold, pale light that offered no warmth.

I dressed in a dark wool coat with deep pockets.

I carefully pinned the small microphone to the inside lapel, threading the wire down into my pocket where the recorder sat.

I tested it one last time, whispering into my collar.

The playback was crystal clear.