“And nobody drags cast iron across my son’s bedroom floor.”

Frank raised both hands in a polite gesture, his gold cufflinks catching the light from Bennett’s desk lamp.

“Of course, Claire.

We were just wrapping up anyway.

I’ll let you two sisters talk.”

Five minutes later Frank’s dark pickup pulled out of the gravel driveway, its tires crunching over the wet fallen leaves by the road.

I went into the kitchen and poured black coffee from the glass pot into two thick ceramic mugs.

Lauren sat at the laminate table picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of her cardigan.