I stiffened. There was something strange about the way she called me a ‘guest’ instead of “Mom”; although perhaps that was only because she was calling out to both girls.

And why did she plan a playdate for Gemma on the same day she knew I was coming? I wondered, incredulously. I loved the idea of Gemma making friends, but this was a big day for both of us. We hadn’t laid eyes on each other in months.

Also, the word “visit” perturbed me. Yes, I had come as a temporary guest … but the plan was to take Gemma with me when I left.

I’m here for more than a ‘visit’.

We still had a home in Chicago and a life to return to, and Gemma needed to be back there with her friends. Her real friends. And with me…

“Girls, answer your Aunt Sara, now!” Francis boomed, giving me another jolt.

I stood up from the lounge, smoothing my plain black dress—the only dress I owned—and cleared my throat. “It’s okay, really. Why don’t I just go up and see her? That way she can keep playing with her new friend,” I suggested. My foot was already on the first stair when Francis said, “Wait, Norah. Let’s leave them to play. Why don’t we take this opportunity to chat one-on-one instead?”

“Oh.” I felt a flash of irritation at having to wait even longer to see my daughter. But I’m here now; a few more minutes of waiting won’t kill me. I need to be patient and try to get along with my aunt and uncle. Reluctantly, I followed them into an enormous kitchen and through an arched doorway that opened into a dark-paneled dining room.

Francis was already taking a seat at the head of the table. Nervously, I pulled out one of the heavy, highbacked chairs and took a seat several places away from him. The tabletop was covered in dusty bone china and bonafide napkins—the real kind, made of cloth.

There was a jaw-dropping chandelier in the center of the ceiling above the table, but like everything else, it was wobbly and stained. The whole place had an air of decay to it. A memory came floating back to me—a Dickens novel I’d read once, about a sad lady with a crusty old wedding cake rotting in the center of her dining table…

Something about this place set my teeth on edge.

Francis waited for Sara to sit down before he spoke. Once again, I tried to catch my aunt’s eye from across the table, but she remained eerily quiet and standoffish in the presence of her husband.

“Now that you’re here, I think it’s time we lay down the rules,” my uncle said, gruffly.

Chapter Three

STEP 2: FAITH

My uncle had made the rules very clear.

Some of those rules were expected: no alcohol or drugs.