Instead he said, “Why were you recording private conversations?”
I laughed.
I couldn’t help it.
It came out broken and ugly.
“That’s what you care about?”
Dad’s jaw clenched.
“You don’t understand what grief does to people.”
Grandma stepped between us.
“No, Jack. You don’t understand what accountability does to people. But you’re about to.”
Valerie suddenly snatched the cedar box from Grandma’s hands and hurled it across the room.
It smashed against the fireplace.
The ring skittered over the hardwood.
I cried out.
Dad shouted, “Valerie!”
For the first time, he sounded shocked at her, not at me.
Valerie’s chest heaved.
“I am so sick of that woman controlling everything from the grave!”
The words hung there.
That woman.
Not Sarah.
Not my sister.
Not Chloe’s mother.
That woman.
Grandma bent slowly, picked up Mom’s ring, and placed it in my good hand.
“Keep it.”
Valerie’s eyes locked on the ring.
“You don’t deserve that.”
I looked at her.
“Neither did you.”
She lunged.
I don’t know what she intended to do. Slap me. Grab the ring. Push me again.
But Dad caught her arm.
“Enough.”
Valerie whipped on him.
“Don’t you start acting noble now.”
Another silence fell.
Dad’s face darkened.
“What is that supposed to mean?”