Chapter 1 - The Spoon in Her Hand

The soup hit my chest so hard that I thought, for one terrible second, it had hit my son.

I turned away from the table and wrapped both arms around eight-month-old Owen. Orange liquid ran down the front of my emerald dress, soaking into the fabric over my ribs. Owen gave a startled cry. I checked his face, his neck, his tiny red sleeves. No burns. No soup on his skin. Only then did I look up.

My sister-in-law, Camille, stood across from me holding a silver spoon.

“Oops,” she said.

Nobody moved. The Christmas tree blinked behind me. Twelve plates sat on Grandma Ruth's dining table, and the smell of roasted turkey floated above the smell of hot squash soup.

“Did you just throw that at us?” I asked.

Camille tilted her head. “You stumbled, Nora.”

“I was standing still.”

“You're always making a scene.”

Ruth's spoon clattered against her bowl. My father-in-law, Walter, looked at his napkin. Two uncles stared at the chandelier as though they expected answers to appear in the crystal.

Owen began to cry harder. I held him against my shoulder, gently rocking. “It's okay, baby. Mommy's got you.”

A chair scraped behind the table.

My husband, Daniel, rose. In his black jacket he looked almost too large for the room. “Put down the spoon, Camille.”

Camille laughed once. “Are you serious?”

“Now.”

She dropped it. Metal rang against china.

“Tell him what you said to me,” she demanded.

“Tell him why you came toward my baby with a bowl of soup.”

“I didn't come toward your baby.”

Daniel stepped between us. His voice was low enough to make everyone lean forward. “I watched you lift the bowl.”

For the first time Camille looked frightened. Not sorry. Frightened.

Ruth pushed herself upright. “Camille, what have you done?”

Camille's gaze flicked toward the hallway, where her purse hung beside the coat closet.

“I was trying to stop her,” she blurted.

“Stop me from what?” I asked.

Camille looked straight at Daniel. “From showing your wife what you've been hiding.”

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The room went silent again, but this time Daniel did not defend himself.

And that scared me more than the soup.