Carolyn Stoddard Hawkes stared into the fire of the drawing room.
My father is dead, she thought. My husband is dead. But no one cares but me. My mother has gone on with her life, which isn’t surprising, since she and Father separated years ago. My uncle doesn’t care, because he never liked my father nor my husband. Cousin David doesn’t care, because he’s so young—at that age, everything is about him. Cousin Barnabas is too busy spending time with Dr. Hoffman to care, whatever it is that those two do together… Cousin Quentin is too busy dating whoever he’s dating right now to care… Isn’t family supposed to care when someone’s grieving?
She barely noticed when her uncle Roger came into the room and poured himself a brandy.
