Chapter 4 - The Arrival
“What in God’s name is going on in here?”
The booming voice belonged to Daniel. My younger son stood in the foyer, breathing heavily, his wool coat half-unbuttoned and his hair windswept. He had driven three hours from the city after receiving no response to his text message, sensing instinctively that something was wrong.
Beside him stood Maya, his fiancée, holding a foil-wrapped pie and looking with wide eyes at the tense tableau before them.
“Daniel,” Patrick said, his voice tinged with irritation and panic. “You’re late. And Mom is in the middle of having a nervous breakdown.”
Daniel didn’t look at Patrick. He looked at me, taking in my folded apron, the cold burners on the stove visible through the open kitchen door, and the solitary plate sitting on the corner tray near the hallway leading to the den.
He walked over to that solitary plate. He looked at the lukewarm turkey slices, the single scoop of stuffing, and the handwritten place card bearing my name.
When Daniel turned back toward the dining room, his jaw was clenched so tightly that the muscles twitched.
“Did you put Mom’s plate here?” Daniel asked quietly, looking directly at Kristen.
Kristen crossed her arms, feigning unbothered defiance. “We were short on chairs, Daniel. It’s not a crime to be practical.”
“Short on chairs?” Daniel repeated, his voice dangerously low. He stepped into the dining room, towering over his older brother. “In her own home? While Brad sits in Dad’s handcrafted chair drinking her wine?”
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“Daniel, stay out of this,” Patrick warned, trying to reassert control. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know exactly what I’m looking at,” Daniel shot back, his eyes blazing with fury. “I’m looking at a spineless coward who let his wife turn our mother into a servant in the house where she raised us. Dad would be sick to his stomach if he saw you today.”
