Chapter 4: Gran's House

Sabine fainted.

She did it beautifully, one hand to her forehead, knees folding, and my father caught her before she reached the rug.

Three women screamed.

Someone shouted for water.

Ambrose didn't let go of my hand.

"Is she all right?" he asked me, very quietly.

"She's fine. She practiced that in the mirror when we were fourteen."

"It shows."

My mother walked toward us through the crowd, and people stepped back to let her.

Her face was perfectly calm.

That was always the worst sign.

"Ambrose," she said, "I think there's been a misunderstanding."

"There hasn't."

"Coralie is upset tonight. She isn't well. She said terrible things to her grandmother at dinner, and I'm afraid she's using you to hurt her sister."

"She asked me to marry her," Ambrose said. "I said yes. I'm not sure where the misunderstanding comes in."

Someone near the sideboard laughed and turned it into a cough.

My mother's eyes moved to me.

"Go upstairs and pack a bag," she said. "You're not sleeping in this house tonight."

Last time, I'd have gone.

I'd have packed in tears, and taken a cab to a friend's couch, and come back two days later to apologize.

"No," I said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It isn't your house."

My father, still kneeling by Sabine, looked up. "Coralie."

"It's Gran's house," I said. "Gran decides who sleeps in it."

Every head in the room turned toward the end of the table.

Gran sat with her hands stacked on the head of her cane.

She took her time.

"Lenora," she said, "you're blocking the cake."

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