That evening, Amanda came home from work in a giddy mood with three other young women in tow. “Tara!” she exclaimed, dashing through the living room, her friends trailing behind her in a flurry of waves and streaming long hair. “Meet my bridesmaids. Rach, Lily, Isabelle. That’s my cousin.”
Tara didn’t get a good look at the women before they had passed through, heading into the kitchen. Over the sounds of the nightly news on the television, she heard giggling and glasses clinking together, then the blender started up with what would prove to be the first of the evening’s many drinks. At that sound, Marlene drifted down from upstairs, drawn to the promise of alcohol like moth to a flame.
More giggles, running water, squeals of delight. Tara had to turn up the volume to hear the weatherman
