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One of my mother’s maids opened the front door for me and pointed to the sunroom at the back of the house. In there, my mother was seated on a regal armchair, reading a magazine and enjoying the warm sunlight trickling in through the thin shades. As usual, Hilary was nowhere to be seen. She would probably emerge from her room when Rosa called for lunch, and then grumble about being bored throughout the meal, like she always did whenever my parents scheduled these Sunday gatherings.
“Good morning,” I said, sitting down on the love seat across the coffee table.
“Good morning,” my mother answered without taking her eyes from the magazine. “How are you?”
“Good,” I lied. “Where’s Dad?”
“Outside.” She beckoned to the door leading to the outside porch. My father paced on the porch, yellin
