“She’s not your daughter. Don’t correct her.”
Greg’s palm slammed against my mahogany dining table.
The crystal glasses rattled.
My sister stopped with her wine halfway to her mouth. Greg’s cousins suddenly found their plates fascinating. Even the hallway clock seemed unbearably loud.
Across from me, Sarah sat back with her arms crossed.
She looked satisfied.
Only seconds before, she had smiled across my table and said, “Honestly, the food is fine, Beth. A little old-fashioned, but fine.”
I let that go.
Then she continued.
“It’s kind of like the boutique. If I hadn’t stepped in and modernized it, I don’t know how much longer it would’ve survived.”
My sister raised her eyebrows.
Sarah gave a light laugh.
“Beth means well. She’s just stuck in another generation.”
Then she said the words that changed everything.
“She’s lucky Greg and I are here to take care of her.”
