Aunt Martha shifted in her metal chair and stared down at her lap without a word.

“I brought gifts for the kids,” I said, pointing to the silver bow on the top box.

“We don’t need gifts bought with money that was stolen out of your family’s household expenses,” my mother said, her voice dropping into a tight, formal clip.

She took a paper napkin from the tray and folded it into four neat squares.

“You ought to leave before the rest of the cousins get here,” she said.

I picked my wool coat up off the back of an empty chair and walked out into the main hallway.