Mom and I took a cab to the reception after the funeral. It was hosted a few blocks away at a restaurant. I didn't believe I was hungry, yet the notion of food caused my stomach to spasm and twist. I was famished by the time the cab arrived.
Mom was approached by a group of Mitchell's female friends, who pulled her into a close hug. They'd dragged her to the side of the room and surrounded her with sympathy before I could say anything. I stood there, embarrassed. Every time someone expressed pity for me, I reminded myself that he was only my stepfather. And I didn't even know him.
Daniel stepped out of the backseat of a black car that pulled up in front of the restaurant. He was no longer grinning; his eyes had contracted into small slits, and his lips was set in a tight line. I saw him
