She was still holding the emerald gown against herself.
“You have plenty of dresses, Claire.”
“So do you.”
“But this one looks better on me.”
“It was bought for tonight.”
Her expression immediately hardened.
Vanessa had never handled the word no very well.
Growing up, if she wanted one of my birthday presents, my parents told me to share.
When she wanted my bedroom because it had the bigger window, they said I was older and should be generous.
When she borrowed money and never returned it, Mom accused me of being petty whenever I asked about it.
Vanessa had spent her entire life learning that if she wanted something badly enough, eventually someone would give it to her.
But the violin was different.
She bent down and picked up one broken piece.
“Well,” she said, “I guess you’re not performing anymore.”
My mother was standing behind her in the doorway.
