“Let her sleep, dear,” Grace said. “Go away.”

He thought he must have heard her wrong. Go away? Was this woman serious?

“Listen, this is my room, too,” he said. “Let me in. Right now.”

Lips pressed together, Grace regarded him with a narrowed gaze full of disdain. Finally, she moved aside.

Troy entered, marveling that this woman actually had the nerve to lock him out of his own bedroom, in his own damn house. In the dim glow of a lamp, he noticed that Grace’s skin was flushed. A glistening sheen of perspiration coated her face, too, and the top two buttons of her kimono-style dress were undone, giving him a glimpse of cleavage that he would have rather not seen.

He looked toward the bed, and saw Monica sprawled across the sheets, on her back. She rarely slept in that position. She wore a pink nightgown, but from the careless positioning of her limbs and her tousled hair, she looked as if she had passed out after a wild night of binge drinking.

“She’s really out of it,” Troy said. “How long has she been asleep?”

“Not nearly long enough, as you can see, obviously.” Grace stared at him, hands bunched into fists on her waist. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“The kids are hungry. I wanted to know Monica’s plans for dinner. My mom can reheat leftovers, though.”

“Leftovers are unacceptable,” Grace said, with a curt shake of her head. “I’ll prepare dinner for the family. Was that all?”

“I think I’m going to take a shower.” He nodded toward the doorway. “Do you mind giving me some privacy?”

“I doubt you have anything I haven’t seen before.” Slowly, she assessed him from sole to crown, gaze lingering on his crotch. She offered a hint of a smile.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

But she was strolling out of the room. On her way, she brushed past him—and lightly pinched his butt.

Hold up. Did she just pinch my ass?

“Please don’t disturb my child,” Grace said. “She needs her rest.”

Grace closed the door behind her. Troy stood rooted to the carpet, mouth agape, wondering if that entire exchange had really happened or if he had only imagined it.

11

Pat was in the kitchen preparing to re-heat leftovers from the repast when Grace came in.

Pat felt her stomach coil into a tight knot. Try as she might to give this woman a fair chance, there was something about her that Pat had distrusted since her first encounter. She couldn’t put her finger on a specific detail. It was everything about her, and the troubling feelings wouldn’t go away no matter how hard Pat tried to bury them.

Where exactly had this woman been for all of Monica’s life? Why make an appearance now—at a funeral? What did she want that had incentivized her to finally appear?