Trevor looked up from his clipboard, his smile tightening at the corners.

My mother flinched, pulling her wool cardigan tighter around her shoulders.

“Meredith,” she said, her voice thin and trembling in the wind.

“What are you doing here, Mom?” I asked.

She didn’t look at me; she looked down at the gravel.

“We were just taking a look at the boundary line,” Trevor said, stepping in front of her.

He tapped his pen against the metal clip of his board.

“This is my property, Trevor,” I said. “The boundary line is closed to you.”

“For now,” he said.

I ignored him and stepped closer to my mother, catching the scent of her lavender soap.

“Mom, look at me,” I said.

She raised her eyes, and I saw the dark circles under them, heavy and bruised-looking in the twilight.

“I got a text from Carol at the registry,” I said. “What did Dad sign?”

My mother swallowed hard, her hand moving to touch the gold cross at her throat.

“We had to help them, Meredith,” she whispered.

“Help them do what?” I asked.