“It is already resolved, dear,” Miriam said quickly, her voice rising slightly. “We just need to clear the balance at the counter.”
“I need to see the statement first, Dad,” I said.
“We have enough on our minds with the old warehouse auction coming up in November,” Miriam said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “We do not need to bicker over five hundred dollars.”
Gerald did not answer, his chin sinking further into his chest as he mumbled something about the television volume.
“We can discuss the paperwork later, Nora,” Miriam said, her tone cool and final. “Right now, your father needs to rest.”
I left the groceries on the table and walked out to my car, the cool autumn air pressing against my neck.
By nine o’clock, the twins were sitting at our small laminate kitchen table, eating scrambled eggs and toast. The kitchen was quiet, the only sound the scraping of forks against stoneware plates.
“Aunt Camille goes to the steakhouse on Fridays,” Emma said, swinging her legs under her chair. “She told me they have chocolate cake with three layers.”
“We have chocolate pudding in the pantry,” I said, putting the butter back in the refrigerator.
