“You’ll be homeless and out of a job by Friday morning,” Brenda said, turning on her heel toward the elevators.

“Mom called me twenty minutes ago,” Brenda added, turning back for a second.

“She told me to tell you that you’re no longer welcome at the Sunday dinner table.”

“I heard her,” I said.

Brenda jabbed the elevator button twice and stepped inside as soon as the steel doors opened.

I went into the therapy room and sat beside Toby while the specialist adjusted the soft foam padding under his elbow.

“Was Aunt Brenda yelling at you outside?” Toby asked softly, his three fingers wrapped around his blue crayon.