Chapter 6: Family Dinner

The lake house sat at the end of a gravel road, with every window lit.

Lucinda had spent every summer of her childhood here.

Her father's boat was still tied to the dock, though no one had painted it in years.

The Ferrars driver parked in the drive and turned off the engine.

"I'll be at the door, ma'am," he said.

"I can walk in alone."

"Mrs. Ferrars's rule."

She let him come.

Gordon opened the front door himself, in a gray sweater, with a glass in his hand.

"There she is," he said, and kissed her cheek. "Come in. It's only us."

The dining table was set for three.

Pierce was already in his chair with his tie off, drinking a whiskey he had not bothered to pour into a glass.

He didn't stand when she came in.

"Cousin," he said.

"Pierce."

"Suspended. Imagine that. Your first day."

"Pierce," Gordon said mildly.

They sat.

A housekeeper brought soup and left again without looking at anyone.

Lucinda put her phone beside her plate, screen down, and nobody said a word about it.

The recording had been running since the car.

"Now," Gordon said, spreading his napkin. "I'll say it plainly. I owe you an apology."

"For what?"

"For doubting you. For filing that petition. I was out of my mind with grief." He sighed. "But we're family. I'd like to put this behind us."

"So would I."

"Good. Then I suggest a simple arrangement."

He slid a folded paper across the table.

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