It wasn’t shouted like anger. It was shouted like command.
We froze automatically. Even Silas stopped mid-step, because there was something in Grandpa’s tone that didn’t allow argument.
The room went so quiet I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.
Grandpa spoke again, louder, each word deliberate.
“The ones who are leaving tonight are not you.”
Silas and I turned at the same time. Confusion flashed across Silas’s face. My own mind felt like it was stuck between terror and disbelief.
Grandpa stared at the room full of raised hands and said, “The people who need to leave are the ones with their hands in the air.”
The room detonated.
Voices erupted from every direction. Chairs scraped. Someone shouted, “What?” Another voice snapped, “Dad, are you serious?” Plates rattled on the table in the next room as people stood up too fast.
My father surged to his feet. His voice shot across the chaos.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Uncle Warren’s face went pale. “Dad, what is this?” he demanded, suddenly less smug.
Uncle Edgar stepped forward, hands up as if he could physically calm the moment. “Now, Dad, we were just—” he began, switching into his fake reasonable voice. “We were just teaching Nolan a lesson. That’s all. No harm meant.”
Aunt Miriam’s voice trembled. “Uncle Everett, I only went along with the others. I didn’t want to upset anyone.”
Uncle Clyde nodded desperately. “Yeah, sir, we thought it was a joke. We didn’t realize—”
Grandpa’s face didn’t soften. Not even a little.
He looked at my father first—Victor, the oldest son, the one who always acted like the family name was his personal property. Then he swept his gaze to Warren and Edgar, and finally to Trent.
continued on next page
For complete cooking times, go to the next page or click the Open button (>), and don't forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
