Ernestine dismissed Anthony and stood in the foyer of her unit, alone. Anthony had come to tend her on her return, filled with dismay at her disappearance while he slept. She’d reassured him as quickly as possible, wanting to be alone. The candles were burning lower on her father’s altar, although they would last until morning. She liked the smell of them, the golden light they cast, the way her father looked like a conquering hero in his portrait.
She remembered him always seeming calm. Had he truly never been surprised? Or had he simply been better than most in hiding his emotions? Maybe that was why he had that aura of command.
Ernestine in contrast felt disheveled. Maybe it was the effect of the alcohol—she certainly wasn’t accustomed to drinking any. There was a faint patina of pers
