I turned my back on the stunned table and walked with slow, deliberate steps out of the dining room and into the vast expanse of the living room. Every eye followed me.

I stopped in front of the six-foot frame and reached up, gripping the heavy black velvet.

“Claire, what on earth is wrong with you?” Richard barked, half-rising from his chair.

I looked directly at Daniel. His face had begun to change. The arrogant smirk faltered, cracked down the middle. His color vanished, his skin going a sickly translucent gray.

He recognized the shape of the frame now. He remembered the click of my phone against the marble counter on Wednesday morning.

I tightened my grip on the cloth.