“Where are they?” Juliette screamed, her voice echoing off the low ceiling.

“Who took my keys?”

She looked directly at me.

Her eyes were bloodshot, the dark mascara beginning to smudge at the corners.

“Annie,” she said.

“You’ve been hovering around the kitchen all morning.”

“Did you touch my purse?”

I stood perfectly still, my hands still buried in my apron pockets.

I felt the metal teeth of the keys biting into my fingers.

“I’ve been cooking all morning, Juliette,” I said.

“I’ve been preparing the food you asked for.”

“The ribs, the potato salad, the pies.”

“I haven’t had time to look at your keys.”

Juliette took a step toward me, her breath smelling of the white wine she had started drinking at eleven.

“You’re lying,” she said.

“You’ve hated me since the day Dan brought you home.”

“You think you’re better than us because you live out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Mom, stop it,” Dan said, stepping between us.

“Annie didn’t do anything.”

“She’s been working herself to death for three days so you could have your perfect holiday.”