On Sunday morning, Brandon went over to Celeste’s for brunch. He found her in the kitchen, briskly scraping carrots, the water running hard. Brandon moved over to her.
“Sis?”
Celeste deliberately turned her face away, her shoulders shaking. She dropped the carrot scraper into the sink. “Oh, dammit it to hell!”
“Baby doll, what’s wrong?”
Brandon put one hand on her back. He’d called her baby doll when he was six and he could still carry her around like a toy.
She shook her head.
Stan came into the kitchen, saw them standing there, and halted. He raised his eyebrows at Brandon and Brandon nodded him out. Stan shrugged and left.
“Sis, come on.” He dried her hands off and pulled her to face him. Her eyes were red and puffy; dreadful looking, really. Her nose was pink and raw. She’d
