Sitting straight across from me at the dinner table clad in her self-expression, Tammy leered at me with a sadistic sort of pleasure, the way I suspected the Grinch would have while he stood on the mountain side and watched as the Whos woke up to find their shit gone. Our mother, a bird-like creature with delicate features and a panache for over exaggerating a situation, immediately went on alert. Her gray eyes widened until I was sure her eyeballs would drop into her shrimp salad. “Gabriel?” “I didn’t hit him,” I assured her. “He did,” Tammy insisted. “There was blood everywhere.” Now Mom looked simply horrified. The tacky knot of wood Jonas had given her as a ring on their wedding day contrasted against the pale skin of her fingers when she gasped behind her hand. “Gabriel!” “I didn’t hit him!”
