“How many people are coming?”
“Eighty-five last count. Everyone who matters at Hillcrest, plus family, of course.”
She paused.
“You know, I heard something about Kyle moving somewhere new. Do you know anything about that?”
My heart rate spiked, but my voice stayed neutral.
“What did you hear?”
“Your mother mentioned he had found stability. She seemed very pleased.”
Another pause.
“Myra, you do know, don’t you?”
“I know, Aunt Linda,” I said. “I know exactly what’s happening.”
Her silence stretched.
Then she said, “I’ve watched your mother for forty years. I have never agreed with how she treats you. If you need me in your corner, I’m there.”
“I might,” I said. “I just might.”
March eighth arrived.
I should have been sleeping in Singapore.
Instead, I watched my house get invaded in real time.
The U-Haul truck pulled into my driveway. My father was driving. Kyle rode shotgun. Brittany followed in Kyle’s beat-up Nissan with two of his friends, men I vaguely recognized from old Facebook photos.
