“I barely touched you.” Tiffany half-rose, reaching for her phone, then set it down again.
And I lay there on the floor I had chosen — light gray Italian tile, picked because Shane swore it would hide dirt — and after thirty seconds of watching my in-laws step around me as though I were a spill, I got my own phone out of my blazer.
I did not call my husband.
I dialed 911.
Chapter 4 — Wanda
The paramedics were coming up the stairs when my neighbor Wanda came home from the grocery store and dropped her bag, tomatoes rolling across the hallway runner.
Marlene’s face rearranged itself instantly into tragedy.
She began slapping her own thighs and wailing for the audience.
“Oh, what a disaster!
She tripped on the rug and fell!