My father adjusted his gold cufflinks twice before carving the roast beef, telling the table how he had bought off three more county building inspectors before noon.

In the bay window nook ten feet away, my seven-year-old son Toby held his watercolor brush with three fingers tucked tight and painted a blue arch across the white paper.

“The new zoning permits cleared the county board on Friday,” my father said, resting his silver carving knife against the rim of the platter.

“The Pinecrest Manor expansion starts in twenty days.”

My mother twisted a lace handkerchief between her hands and looked out the tall dining room windows toward the west fence line.

“That unbearable Mrs.

Higgins put up three new high-definition security cameras along our property line yesterday morning,” my mother said, her breathless voice fluttering.

“High-definition lenses aimed straight at our dining room windows, all over four inches of disputed lawn.”

“Let her waste her money,” my father said, adjusting his left cufflink again.

“Mrs.

Higgins has no political pull in this precinct, and neither do her expensive lawyers.”

Across the heavy mahogany table, my older sister Brenda tapped her thick gold rings against her crystal goblet, making a sharp ring that echoed off the high ceiling.

“Valerie, you need to tell your boy to stop humming,” Brenda said.

“Chloe is trying to check her college account on her phone.”

Her twenty-four-year-old daughter Chloe didn’t look up from her phone, her thumb scrolling fast while her left hand kept twisting the leather strap of her designer handbag.

“He’s painting quietly in the nook, Brenda,” I said, keeping my tone precise and measured.

“Quietly is relative when someone makes thirty-four thousand dollars a year as an administrative court clerk,” Brenda said, setting her glass down hard enough to splash water on the polished wood.

“Some of us have real financial business to handle before Monday.”