Three Bags of Cashews and a Dishonest Sister In Law at the Wedding

Clara, I am so glad you could make it,” Beatrice said, her voice rising to that high, singing pitch she used when she wanted to sound important.

She didn’t look at Arthur, who sat quietly at the far end of the table, setting his leather briefcase flat on the floor beside his chair.

“This is Marcus Vance,” Beatrice said, gesturing with continue reading …