Page 130 of Say Yes to the Death

There was a beat of silence after she spoke. Whoops.

“It’s actually my recipe,” Jack said with a small smile. “You did a great job.”

“No,” Claire politely corrected. “It’s definitely mom’s recipe. She got it from a friend. Here’s a picture of the recipe card,” she said, getting ready to pass her phone to her father.

“Oh,” she said, sitting back down. She had never noticed that the top of the card had a monogram at the top that said JH. “I stand corrected,” she said.

Great, he even ruined her sacred family lasagna recipe. Everything was a lie.

“My Jack is a marvelous cook,” Tanya said. “Just the other day he made a delicious aquafaba meringue.”

“My dad had the best recipe for chili,” George spoke up, setting down his fork with a few leaves of spinach still wound through the tines. “Remember, Luke? He would make it on football Sundays.”

“I remember,” Luke said quietly. He was systematically ripping his garlic bread into tiny pieces.

George, who had clearly decided the wine was gluten-free, judging by the four glasses he had consumed, stared Luke down.

“You still won’t talk about Dad.”

“You don’t know that. You’re not a part of my life anymore. You don’t know what I talk about.”

“I know you’re still a pussy,” George said, sitting back and crossing his arms, a dare in his eyes.

“And I know you’re still a murderer,” Luke said in a matter-of-fact way.

Claire, Tanya, and Jack froze. Claire’s eyes widened.

“You shut your mouth,” George said, fist clenching his wine glass. “I did what I had to do. I was the medical power of attorney. He put that on me, not you. I made the hardest decision I have ever made. And I had to make it alone, because you were gone. You were always gone.”

“I was in Afghanistan,” Luke said, voice raising. He shoved his chair back, stood up abruptly. “It’s not like I was on spring break in Miami.”

George threw his chair back too. He stood, and they stared at each other. “It doesn’t change the fact that you weren’t there.”

“Oh, boy,” Claire said softly.

“You should have waited,” Luke said with a darkness that Claire hadn’t heard in a long time. His voice wavered ever so slightly. “I was at the airport.”

“You know that’s not what Dad would have wanted. He always said if he was ever a vegetable that we needed to?—”

“Pull the plug. Yeah, I know. Except you and Mom got to say goodbye. The last time I saw Dad was when they saw me off when I was getting deployed. I missed most of the last two years of his life.” Luke’s mouth had hardened into a solid line. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides.

“Oh, yes,” George said loudly, looking around as though he were addressing an invisible audience. “All hail Luke, the golden boy. The American hero. Too busy serving his country to be there when his dad’s in a fucking coma. Too far away to take any responsibility.”

Claire’s mouth dropped open.

Luke leaned forward. “I almost forgot. It’s Friday. Isn’t there a church somewhere you should be drunkenly plowing your car into? Or do you need to have Sophia with you in order to take that errand off the To Do list?”

Uh-oh. The dirty laundry was out. The shit was officially hitting the fan.

George reared back with his fist cocked. Claire leapt up from the table, between Luke and George.

George, unable to stop the momentum of his punch, staggered forward with force. Claire ducked her head to the right and dropped to the floor, sweeping George’s legs out from under him. Sawyer would have been proud. Where was a camera when you needed one?

George banged off the table and fell heavily to the floor, wheezing and moaning.

“Get out of my house,” Claire said, hand shaking as she pointed to the door.

A loud click came from the table.

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