Chapter 5: Eat With the Help

My mother's text arrived on Saturday night, three lines long.

Sunday dinner. Seven o'clock. Come home and we'll put this joke to rest.

I showed it to Ethan, and he read it twice.

"You don't have to go," he said.

"If I don't, she tells everyone I'm hiding."

"Then I'll come."

"In what?"

"My work clothes. I'm on shift at nine."

I should have told him to wear a suit.

I think part of me wanted my mother to see exactly what she had made.

The house on Linden Row had white columns, a circular drive, and a front hall with a staircase like a wedding cake.

I had not been inside it for six days, and it felt like six years.

A maid I had known since childhood opened the door, looked at Ethan's black uniform, and quickly looked away.

"Mrs. Penhallow is in the dining room," she said.

"Mrs. Rudd," I said.

The maid blinked. "Of course, miss."

The dining room was lit with every candle in the house.

My mother sat at the head of the long table in a navy dress and pearls, with Bridget at her right hand.

Grayson sat across from my sister, with a stiff jaw and a look that avoided mine.

Four of my mother's friends were there, drinking wine, and every one of them stopped talking when we walked in.

"Claire," my mother said sweetly. "You came."

"You asked."

"And you've brought your friend."

"My husband."

My mother's smile did not move.

"How lovely. Ethan, is it? Let me find you a seat."

She raised one finger, and the maid came forward.

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