He looked older, suddenly, his bald spot showing under the patio lights.

My mother kept looking back over her shoulder.

“Chloe! Maya!” she called out.

Her voice drifted back to us, thin and desperate.

“We did it for you! We did it to keep the family together!”

“Liar,” Chloe whispered under her breath.

She was staring at the ground, her hands clenched into fists.

The side gate creaked open.

The officers escorted them through the narrow passage.

Then, the gate clicked shut.

The silence on the patio was thick, almost suffocating.

The smell of chlorine mixed with the scent of expensive perfume and grilled meat.

A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the manicured hedges.

I looked at the guests.

There were fifty people on our lawn, all of them frozen.

Mr. Henderson, my father’s business partner, slowly put his plate down on a table.

He didn’t look at us.

He just walked toward the front of the house.

One by one, the other guests began to follow his lead.

They did not say goodbye.

They did not offer condolences.

They retrieved their coats and purses in absolute silence.