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.
She looked at the ruined violin.
Then at me.
And sighed.
“Claire, please don’t turn this into a huge scene. Vanessa got upset. You know how emotional she can be.”