Except by Greg, her mind whispered, and that got her moving, out of the nursery and down to the kitchen. After she had fetched the water, she went to the linen closet and tried to decide which towels Greg would miss the least. He had a strange, sporadic eye for details around the house; Lily would throw out a set of threadbare sheets and then, a year later, Greg would ask where the sheets had gone. None of their towels were dark enough to hide blood; whichever set she chose would have to be tossed.