Craig recovered first, or at least tried to.
He squared his shoulders and gave me the same smug look he used at family dinners when he wanted everyone to believe he understood business, law, money, and life better than anyone else in the room.
“Ethan,” he said, forcing a laugh. “You showed up at a bad time.”
“No,” I replied. “Looks like I showed up exactly on time.”
Vanessa set the wineglass down too hard. It clinked against the marble counter.
“Don’t start,” she said. “You have no idea what’s been going on.”
I looked at my mother. Her eyes were swollen. There was a bruise-colored shadow around her wrist, not deep purple, not fresh enough to scream assault, but enough to tell me someone had grabbed her hard.
My father tried to straighten himself.
“Ethan,” he said, voice thin. “We didn’t want trouble.”
Craig snorted. “Trouble? The trouble is two old people sitting on a mansion they can’t maintain while their daughter’s family struggles.”
“You struggle?” I asked.
Vanessa folded her arms. “We’re not all software executives with Boston condos and private accountants.”
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