“Well, Cecily is also here,” he added dismissively.

A few relatives chuckled. It was that soft, uncomfortable laugh people make when they don’t know what else to do.

Josephine didn’t defend me at all. She laughed right along with them.

I stared down at my plate. The roasted lamb blurred through the tears I refused to let fall in front of them.

Under the table, a thin hand found mine. The skin was papery and felt very fragile. Grandma Genevieve, sitting across from me, squeezed my hand gently.

When I looked up, her eyes held something fierce. It looked almost like genuine fury, aimed at her own son.