Chapter 25
~ Octavia ~
The morning light in the estate was always too bright.
I sat at the kitchen island, my fingers wrapped around a mug of herbal tea that had long since gone cold. Lila and Joyce were busy in the laundry room, and Olga had gone to the store to get groceries. Clarence was in the hall, methodically cleaning the enlarged photos of the Flemington family—a gallery of relatives, both living and dead, staring back with frozen, judgmental eyes.
The silence of the estate was a living thing, a heavy shroud that settled over my shoulders every time Franklin left a room.
I reached for the remote and clicked on the television, purely to drown out the suffocating sound of my own thoughts.
"...breaking news this morning in the financial district," the anchor's voice cut through the stillness.
