“No, darling, I’m not high,” I replied at an audible level, rolling my eyes. A waiter passed carrying a tray of drinks. I waved, “Yoo-hoo, garçon, over here.”

The waiter stopped and I snatched one.

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Sweetie, I think you’ve had enough.”

“I’ll know when I’ve had enough, trust me.” I took a large gulp. “Don’t be such a bassoon.”

Jessica sipped her glass of wine and stared past me.

I burst into laughter. “Did I say bassoon?” I couldn’t stop. I was roaring. “I meant bassoon.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack apologized, his eyes meeting Jessica’s. “I’m going to take her home.”

“That’s probably a good idea.” She looked me up and down before leaning in and kissing him on the cheek. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Yeah, talk soon.” Jack was still clutching my arm, as though I were a child who had misbehaved. We turned and began walking toward the balcony.

“The better to eat you with, my dear,” I shouted as Jack dragged me out of sight.

Chapter 40

My father spent days locked away in his office, so my mother was left to entertain us. She would often pack my siblings and me into the car and we’d drive to nearby towns. We’d go to the supermarket or the drugstore, or the movie store to pick a video to rent. She’d give each of us a quarter, and we’d push and shove as we ran for the machines that dispensed handfuls of candy. Our palms became sticky as we clutched our treats, momentarily distracted, allowing our mother a few moments of quiet reprieve.

On one of these trips, William and I were bickering. Annabelle was just a baby, strapped into her car seat.

William pinched my arm.

“Mother,” I screamed. “William pinched me.”

“Stop it,” my mother sighed.

I leaned over and grabbed the skin on his leg, pinching it as hard as I could between my thumb and forefinger, leaving behind a red imprint.

William shouted, “Mother, Grace pinched me.”

“I’m warning you two.” My mother regarded us in the rear-view mirror. “Stop that now.”

William stuck his tongue out at me.

I stuck my tongue out back.

“You’re adopted,” William whispered.

“Mother, William said I was adopted.”

“She stuck her tongue out at me.”

“You did it first.”

“That’s it.” My mother slammed on the brakes. My body jolted forward, my seat belt catching me. She turned around and shouted, “Get out of the car, both of you.”

“No,” we whined in unison.

“Now.”

“But Mother.”

“Now!” she screamed.

Reluctantly, we opened the door and climbed out onto the shoulder of the road. We stood in silence, expecting her to tell us to get back in. “Close the door,” she called. William pushed it shut, giving it an extra kick with his sneakered foot, huffing loudly.

The wheels spun on the gravel, kicking up a cloud of dust before the car pulled away. I began coughing as we watched it grow smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing completely over the hill.