Megan, however, was not someone who had ever learned restraint.
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms and looked at me with the particular smile she had worn since we were children, the one that communicated that she had won something and wanted to make certain I understood it.
“A cabin,” she said. “Well. That fits you perfectly, you stinking woman.”
She didn’t whisper it. She said it at full volume, with the casual confidence of someone who has never once had to consider whether a room was on her side.
Some people gasped. Others laughed, the uncomfortable reflex kind that people produce when they don’t know how else to respond to cruelty in an unexpected setting. Robert shifted in his chair and kept his eyes on the document in front of him, apparently deciding that professional composure required him to pretend the last ten seconds had not occurred.
