else. But the moment had already escaped her.
As we entered the main dining room, the music was still playing. My mother was seated at the head of the table as if she owned the place. Michael had one arm around a woman I didn’t recognize. Jennifer’s husband, Paul, was laughing with two guests while cutting into a steak.
Then Margaret saw me.
Her fork stopped in midair.
One by one, faces turned.
The room fell into silence so suddenly the music seemed obscene.
Michael blinked twice, then grinned too broadly. “Big brother! Look who decided to come home!”
He came toward me with open arms, but his steps slowed when he saw Emma beside me.
Or maybe when he saw my hand around hers.
“Daniel,” my mother said, standing carefully. “Why didn’t you call?”
I looked around the room.
The imported wine. The jewelry. The cars outside. The guests
