Cora leaned forward, setting her water glass down with a soft, deliberate clink . “Actually, Aunt Lila,” she said, her voice as smooth as the eggnog no one was drinking. “I think I can help with that.”
“Traffic was a trance-state nightmare,” Cora said, kissing the air near Lila’s cheek. Her voice was soft, a little too rhythmic, the kind of voice that made you realize you’d been holding your breath. Mistress Of Hypnosis Holidazed
Lila blinked, then looked at Serena. Her eyes welled with real, uncomplicated love. “Darling,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m so sorry you’re hurting. He was a fool.” She reached across the table and squeezed her daughter’s hand. Cora leaned forward, setting her water glass down
Lila Joule sat at the head of the table, a string of real pearls resting against her cashmere turtleneck. She was the family’s unspoken matriarch of disaster, a woman who could weaponize a compliment about the roast beef. Her son, Mark, was already on his third scotch. His wife, Chloe, was trying to stop their toddler from launching a Brussels sprout into the crystal chandelier. And Mark’s sister, Serena, was glaring at her phone, freshly dumped and radiating bitter, peppermint-scented fury. Her voice was soft, a little too rhythmic,
That would be fun to untangle.
The chain swung. Back and forth. Tick. Tock. Like a gentle, hypnotic grandfather clock marking a time that didn’t exist.
Chloe saw it and gasped. “Mark?”