Chapter 6 — The Fire Road

I woke with the kitchen still in my ears — the drawer, the glass, the Porsche taking the curves too fast — and went down to breakfast anyway, because that was the rule in our house: whatever happened at night, morning was performed.

David had the Wall Street Journal open. Marty poured coffee as if she hadn't spent half the night over a stack of papers at the island. Mark and I kept our eyes on our cereal and watched everything. When David reached past her for the sugar, she moved her hand so it wouldn't be there.