A few hours later, Evelyn and Ian are seated in front of the fire in the parlor, apparently having a perfectly pleasant, if perfectly quiet, day. She sits on a chaise lounge close to the warmth, quietly peeling an orange and looking at a home and garden magazine.
Ian, on the floor, works to put together a children’s puzzle. Once, just once, he looks up at his mom, his face a little pained.
She gives him a wink and a little smile, letting him know that she knows he’s bored. But still, they have roles to play. He sighs and turns back to his boring puzzle, wishing he was doing anything else.
As she waits for the next shoe to drop, Evelyn patiently mulls over the information that Ian gave her. What the hell was Victor even doing?
It was clear, from what Ian had said, that Victor had some
