Sarah rounded the corner and looked into the kitchen over Phillip’s shoulder. “Hi, Auntie Jane,” she said with a jaunty wave, as if she weren’t plopping herself in the middle of a marital minefield. “And who is this little cutie?” Sarah asked, because there was a small child with pale-blond pigtails and large blue, blue eyes peeking out from behind Auntie Jane’s legs.

“Goddammit.” Uncle Phillip smacked the back of his hand against his palm. “Get her out of here.”

“Sarah . . . ?” Auntie Jane had turned pale, as if she were seeing a ghost. “Is that you?”

“Now,” Uncle Phillip hissed out through clenched teeth. Auntie Jane hoisted the little girl onto her hip and ran from the kitchen. Okay. That was just weird. Sarah could hear the little girl crying and Auntie Jane attempting to soothe her as her footsteps fled down the hall, up the circular staircase. “I’m surrounded by incompetence,” he muttered. Sarah turned to look at him. His face was mottled with suppressed rage. People dealt with the death of a loved one in different ways, but this was unacceptable. Sarah could hear the tread of footsteps overhead, fainter and fainter, and then the far-off thud of a door closing. Suddenly, Phillip hitched up the waistline of his slacks and then stormed through the kitchen to the arched doorway Auntie Jane had just exited through. I really wish I’d stayed at the hotel and enjoyed my book. Sarah stepped into the kitchen. There were crayons and a partially finished drawing on the breakfast table in the nook.

“Jane,” Phillip bellowed. Sarah glanced over. He was standing at the foot of the stairs. “Dump the damned kid and get your ass back down here. I need your help.” He strode back into the kitchen, smoothing the strands of his gray hair back into place.

“Sorry about that,” he said, attempting to smile congenially, as if he hadn’t just had a meltdown. “Can I get you a drink?” He smoothed his shirt into his pants as he strolled to the refrigerator. He swung the fridge door open and peered inside. “Cider, white wine, juice boxes, mineral water . . .”

“I’m okay for now. Look, Uncle Phillip, I don’t mind the little girl. Seriously. She’s welcome to stay down here with us. If you want to know the truth, I really adore children. Had always planned to have a ton of my own someday. So, you’d be doing me a kindness. Truly.”

Sarah heard a gasp and turned to see Auntie Jane standing in the doorway staring at her, her hand rising to her throat. “He . . .” Her gaze darted to her husband and then back to Sarah again, her eyes wide. “He said you didn’t—”

“Jane.” His voice cracked like a whip. “A picnic. We need a picnic.”