“I asked her a simple question about waiting,” Margaret said, smoothing the cloth napkin across her lap with both hands.

“She sassed me.”

“Where is my daughter, Mom?” I asked.

My calm, factual voice sounded loud in the silent room.

Frank cleared his throat again and shifted his eyes to the window curtain.

“She has to learn her place before she sits at my table,” Margaret said.

“Where is she?” I said, getting up from my chair.

“She’s cooling off in the dining room pantry,” Margaret said calmly.