Chapter 2 - The Standoff at the Gate
The silence in the backyard grew heavy, broken only by the distant hum of traffic on Glenwood Avenue. Forty pairs of eyes shifted between my sister and me. My mother finally stepped forward, her floral sundress rustling as she walked over the manicured lawn.
“Claire, stop making a scene,” Mother said, her voice dropping into that familiar tone she always used when Brooke’s actions needed covering up. “Your sister was just trying to help clean up those gifts before they got ruined by that frosting. Now give Mason his phone back. He has sponsors waiting for this upload.”
“Mother, shut up,” I said without looking at her.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. I had never spoken to my mother like that in public. But my pulse was hammering in my ears, and the tightening in my abdomen warned me that my blood pressure was spiking dangerously high.
Brooke squared her shoulders, her chin lifting with defensive arrogance. “You are losing your mind, Claire. Pregnancy hormones are making you paranoid. Let me through. We have places to be.”
“You used my spare key,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “You went into Daniel’s office. You stole the blue envelope.”
“What blue envelope?” Mason piped up, trying to snatch his phone back from my grip. “Mom, what is she talking about? Is this part of the bit? Can I turn the live stream back on?”
“Shut up, Mason,” Brooke snapped at her son, a flicker of panic finally cutting through her composure. She turned back to me, forcing a strained, pitying smile for the benefit of our watching relatives. “Claire, honey, you’re scaring everyone. Look at you. You’re shaking. Let’s sit down, clean that dress, and pretend this whole disastrous party never happened.”
“Don’t touch me,” I said as she reached for my arm.
I took two steps back, keeping my body planted squarely in front of the narrow wooden side gate that led to the driveway. Daniel’s black SUV should have been back from the pharmacy five minutes ago. Where was he?
“Claire, I’m warning you,” Brooke hissed, her voice dropping an octave as she leaned in close. “Move out of the way. You have no idea what you’re messing with.”
“Neither do you,” a voice boomed from the patio entrance.
Daniel stepped out from the house. He hadn’t come back through the front driveway; he must have parked down the street or entered through the garage side door. His face was pale, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked violently near his mouth. In his hand, he held his heavy brass-cased pocket knife, closed, but gripped like a weapon.
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Behind him walked our neighbor, Arthur, a retired superior court judge who had been invited to the party. Arthur looked solemn, holding his smartphone out with the screen glowing.
Brooke’s face lost every trace of color. She looked at Daniel, then at Arthur, and finally back at the diaper bag slung heavily over her shoulder.
