His smile faded. “That’s enough.”
She stood beside him at the table. “You always do that,” she said. “You quit talking.”
“I said, ‘That’s enough.’”
“You can’t just clam up like I’m not here.”
He slapped open his newspaper.
By seven o’clock, the sun still two hours from setting, Julian had left the house, returned with more wine, and celebrated so much he lay draped across his bed, snoring. Standing at the door of his room, Willow stared at the figure on the bed. Not Papa. Not the man she still remembered him being.
She thought about calling Tory. Maybe there was something Tory could do or undo. Maybe Tory would come, bringing her sewing basket and doll parts and sit at the kitchen table. Maybe the two could talk and fix things. But Papa didn’t want his sister there any more than he w
