Chapter 1 - THE WOMAN AT MY SINK
The rolled-up magazine hit my wife in the shoulder before anyone saw me standing in the doorway.
"Clumsy idiot," my sister Paige snapped.
Gwen flinched so hard the cast-iron pan slipped against the sink. She caught it with both hands, breathing fast, head lowered. She looked half the size she had when I left four years earlier. An oversized gray sweatshirt hung from her shoulders. A thick black beanie covered her head even though the kitchen was warm.
My mother, Margaret, sat six feet away in a silk robe, a diamond necklace at her throat. "If she'd stop feeling sorry for herself, she'd be useful again."
I had sent almost one hundred thousand dollars home while serving overseas.
Paige was drinking champagne.
My wife was scrubbing their pan.
My duffel slid from my shoulder and hit the marble floor.
Every head turned.
The champagne glass fell from Paige's hand and shattered.
Margaret stood so fast her chair scraped backward. "David?"
Gwen looked at me last.
That hurt the most.
I had imagined this moment for four years. I had pictured her running into my arms. Instead, she stared at me like I had walked into a minefield.
"Gwen," I said.
Her lips trembled.
I stepped toward her.
She stepped back.
My whole body went cold.
Margaret rushed in. "Honey, you should've called. Gwen's been sick. We've been taking care of her."
"Taking care of her?" I looked at the broken glass, the magazine on the floor, Gwen's shaking hands.
Paige forced a laugh. "You walked in at a weird moment."
I could have exploded.
Four years overseas had taught me not to attack the first thing that moved.
Observe. Map the room. Learn who is lying.
So I smiled.
"It's okay," I said. "It's good to be home."
Margaret's shoulders relaxed.
Paige looked relieved.
Only Gwen looked terrified.
When I reached for her hand, she whispered so softly the others couldn't hear.
May you like
"You shouldn't have come home yet."
Then her eyes flicked toward the locked bedroom at the end of the hall.
