Page 155 of When a Soul Cries

I jerked my head toward the phone. “What you mean, *how?*”

“I mean exactly that. How do you know?”

Heat crawled up my neck. I slapped my palm against the steering wheel hard enough to make the horn give a short, angry chirp.

“Because I fucking know, Denise! I was with that man for years.”

“And you were with him every second of every day? You know what he did every time you turned your back?”

“Watch where the fuck you going with this.”

“I’m asking you a question.”

I stared through the windshield. Pinehaven was still miles away, trees blurring past my windows, but suddenly the car felt too damn small.

“Mack wasn't no fucking rapist.”

“Everybody can't be lying, Trice. Soleia lying. People around Pinehaven lying. Anybody who ever said something sideways about Mack was lying. The only person who could tell the truth was Mack?”

My chest rose and fell harder.

“I’m not doing this shit with you.”

“You called me.”

“And I can hang the fuck up too.”

“Then hang up.”

I snatched the phone from the cupholder and ended the call.

“Stupid bitch.”

For several miles, only the tires and air vents filled the car.

Then Denise's question came back.

*Who the baby look like?*

“Don't start that shit.”

But the baby's face was already there.

Those big brown eyes.

Thick little curls.

That little nose.

The way she'd frowned when my voice got loud, eyebrows pulling together, mouth turning down.

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

I'd seen that expression before.

Mack used to make that same damn face when somebody irritated him.

“No.”