Chapter 2

The smell of roasted brisket filled the house in Omaha, the very house I had paid for. My parents, John and Mary, were fussing over my nephew, Cody, who was preening in his new suit. My sister, Beth, and her husband, Kevin, sat on the couch like royalty, observing the scene.

The atmosphere was celebratory, buzzing with talk of Cody's supposed bright future at a state university.

I walked in, and the conversation paused.

"Sarah! You made it," my mother said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

"Of course," I replied, putting a wrapped gift on the table. "Wouldn't miss it."

We sat down for dinner. My father, John, carved the brisket. He placed the juicy, lean center cuts on Beth's plate, then Kevin's, then Cody's. When he got to me, he scraped the burnt, fatty ends onto my plate. I hated the burnt ends. I'd hated them since I was a child. Beth loved the lean cuts.

I stared at the blackened meat. It was such a small thing, but it spoke volumes.

"So," my father started, "your mother tells me you did something stupid. Quit your job?"

The light, happy mood in the room evaporated.

Kevin snorted from across the table. "Hope you have a place to stay, 'cause this house is full."

Cody, my 18-year-old nephew, looked up from his phone, his face a mask of spoiled indignation.

"Wait, for real? If you're unemployed, how are you going to buy me my new F-150 truck?"

He wasn't joking. His eyes were wide with genuine concern for his truck. Not for me. For his truck.

I looked around the table. At my sister, who was pointedly avoiding my gaze. At my mother, who was busy arranging the potatoes on her plate. At my father, whose face was set in a disapproving scowl.

The coldness was a physical thing, a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. My homecoming was not what I had imagined.