Marble, then the long runner, then more marble.

“The pastor’s due at three.

He’s terribly fond of my rosemary potatoes.” She tapped a fingernail on the crystal, and it chimed like a tiny bell.

The living room opened up ahead of him: white rug, white chairs, one tall window letting in the afternoon light.

Emily was on the floor at the corner of the rug, her back propped against a leg of the sofa and one shoe off.

“She’s having one of her little episodes,” Victoria said from the doorway.