Chapter 1 - The Doorway Accusation
The chandelier hadn't even stopped swaying when everyone went quiet and turned toward the doorway. The long wooden table was already set for lunch, glasses catching the daylight coming through the sheer curtains, silverware lined up so straight I was afraid to breathe near it. My light-colored handbag sat near the end where I'd left it that morning, and behind it, propped against the wooden hutch, my pink-cased tablet blinked with its little red light on. No one had touched the food. The men in suits stood with their hands folded. Grandma stood at the head of the table in her blue jacket over her gray dress, her hair pulled back in a bun, watching the empty hallway like she already knew what was coming.
It didn't make sense because ten minutes earlier she'd squeezed my arm and told me she was glad I'd made it home for lunch. Now the air felt stretched thin.
My name is Maya Ellis. I was twenty-three and back in that dining room for the first time in months.
I remember the exact sound of her heels on the wood floor before I saw her. My cousin Lauren came into the doorway in her white one-shoulder dress, her short blonde bob still perfect, her thin gold necklace catching the light. She wasn't looking at Grandma or at the table. She was looking straight at me. Her smile from earlier was gone. Her mouth was tight and her eyes were fixed, angry in a way that made my stomach drop.
She lifted her hand and pointed.
"Check her bag. She's a thief."
The words hit the room and just hung there. I felt every head turn. One of the uncles shifted his weight. Someone's glass clinked against a plate. I could hear my own breathing too loud in my ears. My hands were cold. I looked from Lauren to Grandma, then down at my bag on the table. The hutch behind it was crowded with silver plates and framed photos, and my tablet sat there in plain sight, still recording, its screen glowing faintly.
"What? I just got here."
I said it before I could think. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to. I hadn't even sat down yet. My ponytail had slipped a little low on my neck and I pushed it back without thinking. Lauren didn't blink. She kept her chin up, her shoulders square, like she'd already decided how this would go. Grandma didn't move. Her face was stern, shocked into stillness, and she looked from Lauren to me and then to the bag.
I took a half step toward her because she was the only person in that room I trusted to listen. The daylight was bright behind the curtains and it made everything look too sharp, the wood grain, the water glasses, Lauren's white dress. My throat was dry. I could see the red recording light on my tablet reflected in one of the hutch vases.
May you like
"Grandma, I was filming my dance."
Nobody answered. Lauren crossed her arms. Grandma's eyes stayed on me, steady and unreadable. The men around the table didn't speak or move closer, but I felt them lean in anyway. My bag sat untouched in the middle of all that silence, and Grandma lifted her hand just enough to keep everyone back.
