Calla:
Sunday mornings were supposed to be for recovering. Sleeping late. Drinking too much coffee. Pretending the decisions you made at the port the night before wouldn't follow you into daylight. I had planned on doing all three. Instead, Mom had called at nine and invited me to brunch. Which wasn't really an invitation. It was a Vance family summons dressed up in linen and fresh flowers.
So by eleven, I was pulling into the driveway of the Eastside house. The house was beautiful. Of course it was. Everything in Eastside was beautiful. Perfectly landscaped lawns. White stucco. Tall windows. Ocean views. The kind of place that looked like nobody had ever screamed inside it.
I parked beside Dad's vehicle and climbed out. My body was still carrying the aftershocks of last night. The race
