My father’s head snapped toward her.
“Elaine,” he warned.
Derek looked between them. “What about Uncle Paul?”
My mother’s face changed as if she had said something she had not meant to say.
A memory stirred in me.
Uncle Paul had been my mother’s younger brother. In family stories, he was mentioned rarely and vaguely. A genius, people said. A dreamer. Someone who could have been great if he had been more practical. He died when I was nine, though no one ever explained much beyond “an accident” and “a difficult time.”
“What does Uncle Paul have to do with me?” I asked.
My mother pressed her lips together.
“Nothing,” my father said too quickly.
But it was too late.
The air had shifted.
Derek’s brows drew together. “Mom?”
She closed her eyes.
For a moment, I thought she might finally tell the truth.
Instead, she straightened.
