Preview reading: Mama’s house still smelled like lemon oil and gospel, the kind of scent that covers guilt better than bleach.

Marcus thought a juice cleanse would save him. Celery, beets, and turmeric all lined up in mason jars on the counter like soldiers. His mama’s voice echoing in his head: “Baby, you better change somethin’ before that heart gives out like your uncle’s did.” But by day three, the juice started tasting wrong. Celery like dirt. Beets like pennies. Turmeric like blood. And that’s when the hunger moved no longer in his stomach, but in his teeth...

May I be grateful to sow what I reap.