I Arrived For Sunday Dinner At My Daughter’s House

across from us, Andrew’s sister. “You were here?”

Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth.

Margaret cut in. “Beth has no idea why you’re interrogating people in my dining room.”

Beth. Twenty-four, maybe twenty-five. Mascara clumped at one eye. She looked sick.

“I wasn’t asking you, Margaret.”

Beth glanced at Andrew, then at Claire, then at the potatoes.

“It continue reading …