“You take care of this little lovely out here.” Grace waved dismissively toward the dog’s corpse. “I’ll return to the kitchen and prepare a proper Sunday morning breakfast for the family: homemade waffles for the children, and my famous frittata for the adults. How does that sound?”

“Great,” Troy said in a flat voice.

He watched her amble toward the house. She swung her hips like a model strutting down a runway.

Another week with this woman, he thought. I don’t know if I can handle it.

He turned back to their dead dog.

And for the briefest moment, he envied Duchess.

19

For Monica, the morning passed in a blur. Upon hearing the news that Duchess was gone, she was beside herself with shock, disbelief—and anger. She couldn’t believe that Pat, previously so reliable, had committed such a fatal oversight.

She couldn’t stand to look at the woman without wanting to scream at her. Gratefully, Pat left soon thereafter, continuing to tearfully deny that she had done anything wrong. Monica loved her mother-in-law but her emotions were too raw to handle, and she didn’t try to talk Pat out of leaving.

“Growing old is a terrible thing,” Grace said to Monica after Pat had gone. She clucked her tongue. “The poor old woman has no memory whatsoever of what she’s done. Imagine what errors she might unwittingly commit with your children!”

Monica didn’t want to think about it, but the idea had crept across the back of her mind. She hated to entertain such thoughts but the seeds of distrust had been planted, and she would need to talk to Troy about ensuring his mother got help.

“I’ll be staying here for another week,” Grace declared. “I’ve got the time and you need my help. Besides, we’ve so much catching up to do, child.”

That was the best news Monica had gotten thus far that day. Later that morning, Grace persuaded Monica to gather the kids, get away from the house, and spend some time outdoors at the local park. Although it was early November, the weather late that morning was pleasant, the temperature having climbed into the low sixties as golden sunshine beamed through scattered cumulus clouds.

Grace offered to drive the ten-minute trip to the park, and Monica readily agreed. Grace herded Lexi and Junior into Monica’s BWM X5, expertly buckled the children into their respective car seats. Monica slumped in the passenger seat, clammy hands clutching a knot of tissues.

As her grief about losing her dog progressed, Monica had begun to blame herself, too. Whatever had happened outside had occurred while she was enjoying a deep, peaceful slumber last night. Surely, Duchess had barked, yelped, made some kind of panicked noises, but Monica had slept through it all, oblivious to her dog’s suffering. How could she have done such a thing?