Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
Sable carried in a heavy white platter of roasted chicken, the skin browned to a dark, glossy crisp. She set the platter down and tapped her long, red fingernails against the edge of the ceramic dish, a fast, rhythmic clicking that filled the quiet of the room.
“We should eat as a family tonight,” Sable said, her voice rising to that sharp, high-pitched register that always made the high ceilings of the River Oaks house feel lower.
I sat in the chair nearest the hallway, my gold wedding band sliding easily around my knuckle as I rubbed it, a habit that had become as natural as breathing since Gordon’s funeral.
“The garage room is quite drafty at night, Cassandra,” Sable said, carving the breast with quick, aggressive strokes of the silver knife. “I thought we could put all this unpleasantness behind us, Mother Reed.”
I waited, watching the thin steam rise from the white meat.
“We want you back in the main house,” she continued, placing a piece of chicken on my plate with the serving tongs. “It was never our intention to make you feel unwelcome in your own home.”
