Chapter 9: Family

The cellar of my father's house smells like every bad memory I have. They throw me down onto the old work table so hard the wood cracks, and Isolde upends the money bag — his money, the cash he folded into my hand — and it rains gold and green across the wood. They fall on it like animals. My father counts with shaking fingers. Isolde laughs, high and wild. Then her head comes up. "Is this all?" she says. "Is this all he gave you? What else did you take? Jewelry? Cards? What's in the...