“This is a family matter,” he said, too loudly.
“A private family matter.”
“It stopped being a family matter,” said my mother, “when you said the word guests.”
For a moment, nobody breathed.
Then Dillon did what frightened men do.
He turned on me.
“You did this,” he said, in a low, vicious voice.
“You called your mother.”
“I didn’t tell anyone,” I said.
“She didn’t tell me, either,” said my mother.
“I found out the way you did, Dillon.”
“By looking.”
He took one step toward me, and his hand closed around my wrist.
I felt his fingers dig in, hot and damp, the fingers I had once held in a delivery room in my head.
“Shannon,” he hissed, with that same tight smile he’d worn for the crowd.
“Listen.”
“Tell them you’re overreacting.”
“Tell them what a great father I am.”
“Tell them you wanted to see me.”
