My stepmother called me at the end of the day, her voice so smug I could practically hear the smile on her lips, and told me that from now on I would never be allowed to set foot in the family beach house again because she had already changed every lock.

An hour later we were sitting at the table making a list of everything that was missing. “Did Cassandra say those exact words about selling the place?” Lydia asked.

“She said Dad was going to sell it anyway,” I confirmed. Lydia nodded and made a note on her legal pad.

“Good, we will use that in the hearing,” she said. I laughed weakly and looked at her.

“You are the least soothing person I know,” I said. “I am extremely soothing in environments where aggression is the preferred form of comfort,” she joked.

Then the front door opened without a knock. My father stepped into the hall carrying a leather duffel bag.

He looked older and thinner than the last time I had seen him. “Audrey,” he said with a wounded dignity.

I didn’t stand up to greet him. “You signed the acknowledgment, Harrison,” I said.

“I want to explain everything to you,” he started. “No, you want to manage the situation,” Lydia interrupted.

He gave her a long and tired look. “This should be a private family matter,” he said.

“It stopped being private when Victoria filed a false police report,” Lydia reminded him. He looked at me with a pleading expression.