Chapter 1 - The Parting Shot
The dining room went as cold as a morgue the second those seven words left my mother's mouth.
“I don't care if they're true or not.”
Aunt Cheryl’s hand stayed frozen over her mouth, her eyes darting between my mother and Paige like she was watching a highway collision. Uncle Dale lowered his fork slowly to his plate, the ceramic clink sounding like a gunshot in the dead silence.
My mother, Eleanor, stood at the head of the table with her chest heaving beneath her beige cardigan.
Her face was flushed a violent red, her index finger trembling as she pointed it straight at my face. "You apologize to your sister right this instant, Jacob! You apologize for dragging filth into this family!"
I didn't blink. I didn't raise my voice.
"You really don't care, do you?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm. "Marcus paid off her student loans. Marcus bought her that house in Short Pump. And when she betrayed him, he packed his bags quietly so you wouldn't hate her."
Paige jumped up from her chair, knocking her iced tea glass over.
The amber liquid spread rapidly across my mother's pristine white damask tablecloth, soaking into the fabric and pooling around the roast platter.
"Shut up, Jake!" Paige screamed, tears of sheer panic finally breaking through her manufactured grief. "You don't know anything about my marriage! Marcus was emotionally abusive! He drove me away!"
"Emotionally abusive?" I challenged, stepping back from my chair and picking up my jacket from the credenza. "Is that what you call a man who begged you to go to counseling for three months while you were checking into the Omni in Charlottesville with Drew?"
Paige turned as pale as drywall.
Her lower lip trembled, her eyes darting toward our father, who sat slouched in his chair staring at his napkin.
Dad looked sixty-five going on eighty-five, his weathered hands gripping the wooden arms of his chair. He had spent forty years working double shifts at the freight depot, giving every spare dime to keep Paige in dance lessons and private college.
"Dad..." Paige whimpered, trying to reach for him.
Dad didn't look up. He didn't say a single word.
"Get out," my mother snarled, stepping around the table to put herself between Paige and me, her maternal protective instinct flaring for the only child she had ever truly claimed. "Get out of my house, Jake! You are dead to this family until you write that check and beg your sister for forgiveness!"
I looked at my mother, then at Paige, and finally at the relatives who had sent me dozens of guilt-tripping texts over the last two weeks.
May you like
"Keep the money, Mom," I said softly, sliding my arms into my jacket. "Because when Marcus’s lawyer files the formal divorce complaint on Monday, you’re going to need a lot more than ten thousand dollars."
I turned on my heel, walked out the front door, and let the heavy deadbolt slam shut behind me.
