He was running his fingers through his brown hair, a habit he only had when he was keeping something from me.
“The fellowship was only the first part,” Matthew said to the phone.
The air in the hallway felt suddenly thin, as if the old house had used up all its oxygen.
“If she finds out about the submission dates, the whole thing falls apart,” Matthew said.
I leaned my head against the doorframe, my eyes fixed on the small white bag in my hand.
The gold watch inside seemed to tick in time with the grandfather clock.
“Just keep your father quiet,” Matthew said. “I will handle Robert.”
Robert was my father, a man who had never spoken Matthew’s name without a tone of absolute approval.
“We have six weeks until the anniversary,” Matthew said. “By then, it won’t matter.”
He ended the call with a quick tap on his screen, the silence returning to the living room like a heavy blanket.
I stepped backward, my boots finding the soft rug near the front door.
I reached behind me, turned the brass knob, and slipped out onto the porch.
