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“Expand.”
“Unruly, feisty, mannerless. Atomboy.” The word burst past her bared teeth. Vera slammed a cabinet shut, pausing to shake her head. “She got into so much trouble growing up. Can you believe they kicked her out of private school at sixteen? She gave away the morning-after pill to students who needed them. Forfree.”
And I’d do it all over again.
Fuck the patriarchy.
While we’re at it—screw Vera, too.
“Did she ever finish high school?”
At this point, did it matter?
Ironically, the closest I’ve ever come to using my GED is via the research skills required to break into your home.
“Barely.” She tossed her hands in the air. “Her father had the mind to ship her off to a fencing academy in Seoul. It’s what she wanted all along, anyway. She always looked down at me and my poor daughters. Wouldn’t let me choose her clothes, get her nails done, or cut that god-awful hair.”
“College?”
Vera snickered, waving a hand. “Not even community college.Tabitha, however, has a B.A. from Columbia and my sweet Reggie went to the prestigious?—”
“No need to finish the sentence. I assure you, no part of me cares.”
Even if every part of him cared, Tabby did not, indeed, have a degree fromthatColumbia.
But Columbia College of Maryland didn’t exactly have the same ring to it.
Vera opened the fridge. What did she think? That I’d stuffed myself between her gallon of probiotic yogurt and double-XL pickled onion jar?
Somebody call Sherlock and tell him he might be out of a job.
Mr. Sun was obviously not as thoroughly appalled as Vera wanted him to be because she proceeded to the fake-crying portion of the program, except she couldn’t quite siphon out a tear, so her nose just scrunched up and down.
Vera swiped her cheek. Dry as a Chilean desert.
“She fought me over that pendant. Gave me hell. But we needed the money. Her late father worked on very slim margins, and my girls need to be provided for until the insurance money kicks in.” She spoke as if Reggie and Tabby were children, not capable women in their mid-twenties. “I am beyond embarrassed at Farrow’s behavior.”
I was embarrassed, too.
To be affiliated with this hot mess.
Thankfully, not through DNA.
Zach cut through her moaning. “Mrs. Ballantine?”
“Yes?”
“Try the pantry and put us both out of the misery that is this conversation.”
“Oh. Right. Good idea.”
Her footsteps neared.
My elbows dug deep into my hips. The spatula almost fell from my clammy grip. Tiny hairs leapt up from the nape of my neck.
I rocked back on my heels and drew in a breath, preparing myself for the worst.
Vera’s fingers stretched out.
