“The family account,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator. “The monthly transfer didn’t go through.”

Juliette waved her hand impatiently, dismissing her daughter’s panic with a flick of her manicured wrist.

“Never mind the phone, Sarah,” Juliette said, her voice rising. “I want to know where the food is.”

I walked past them into the kitchen, the linoleum cool under my bare feet.

The countertops were wiped clean, reflecting the harsh afternoon sun.

There were no platters of marinated ribs, no bowls of potato salad, and no crates of soda.

I opened the cabinet and pulled down a single, paper sleeve of plain saltine crackers.

I placed them on a white ceramic plate, setting it in the exact middle of the island.

Then I opened the refrigerator, which was completely empty except for a glass pitcher of water.

I took out the pitcher, filled with tap water, and grabbed three mismatched glasses.

“Here we are,” I said, offering a tight smile as I set the glasses down.

Juliette stared at the crackers as if they were covered in dust.