The rosemary chicken was simmering on the gas stove when Evan dropped his heavy brass ring of restaurant keys onto the granite counter. He did not look at me, but the skin across his knuckles was white from how hard he had been gripping his steering wheel.
I adjusted the sleeve of my red cocktail dress, keeping my left hand flat against the cool stone.
“Vanessa is coming for dinner,” he said.
His voice was too loud for our quiet kitchen, carrying the same sharp, commanding tone he used when the kitchen line at Mercer House fell behind. He tapped his phone screen impatiently against his palm, the glass making a rhythmic clicking sound.
“She needs to feel comfortable here, Claire,” he added, his eyes scanning the stove.
“The table is set for two,” I said.
My voice remained low and steady, the habit of thirty years of marriage keeping the tremble out of my words. I reached down to touch the silver serving spoon resting next to the burner.
“Then set another place,” he said, stepping closer. “And make sure you use the good china. She likes the blue pattern.”
“This is my grandmother’s house, Evan,” I said, my finger tracing the edge of the silver spoon. “And those dishes were hers.”
He grabbed the silver serving spoon from my hand and brought the heavy metal down across my left wrist. The impact was sharp and sudden, a hard crack against the bone that sent a dull heat radiating up my arm.
The silver charm bracelet my grandmother had given me caught the edge of the counter as my hand dropped.
Evan did not look at my wrist as it began to redden. He tossed the spoon back onto the counter, where it bounced once before coming to rest near the sink.
“If Vanessa is staying here, you will treat her like family,” he said.
I looked down at my wrist, where a dark shape was already starting to form under the skin. With my right hand, I carefully unclasped the silver charm bracelet, letting the small metal keys and hearts pool in my palm.
