Games We Play Read Online Free PDF Page A

window, and an oval-shaped green rug sat underneath the kitchen table.
    There were three single windows—two in a row on the side wall and one on the back wall, offering a view to the backyard. An electric fan stood spinning quietly in one of the windows, bringing in the cool spring air.
    Across the room from the table was the cooking portion of the kitchen. Two rows of cabinets, upper and lower, flanked the walls, with counter space below the upper cabinets, interrupted first by the refrigerator, then by the sink and the stove.
    “You have a lovely home,” Kendall said, and it was true. The word
cozy
came to mind. It was very different from her mother’s upscale, expensive, expansive style.
    “It’s home. It’s not very large compared to what you’re used to, I’ll bet, but George and I were very happy here,” she said, moving through the kitchen to the door leading outside.
    Kendall followed her, stepping out into a screened-in back porch, half the size of the kitchen in width. There was another door, opening out onto a set of steps that led to the backyard.
    “This is where I spend most of my time when I’m home. I sit out here and have my morning coffee, read the paper, and watch TV. It was a part of your uncle George’s daily routine. He liked to have his breakfast out here in the spring and fall, when the weather was changing and the breeze was cool. Have a seat, and I’ll go and get our lunch,” she said.
    “I can help,” Kendall said.
    “You’ll do no such thing. You’re my guest,” Aunt Myra said, and went back inside the kitchen.
    Kendall glanced around the room while she waited.
It was cozy out here too
, her first thought. There were two chairs pushed under a small table, the top of which was round and topped with two place mats. Brown, tightly-napped carpeting covered the patio floor. An armchair and a small sofa covered in some type of paisley print sat next to the door, and a small table topped with a small lamp rested next to the chair. A bookcase stood against the back wall that separated this room from the outside. There were three shelves, and a small television sat on the top shelf. Some old western was playing, the volume turned down low.
    Kendall sat in one of the chairs at the table and waited. A few minutes later, Aunt Myra was back, carrying a tray of sandwiches in one hand and a pitcher of tea in the other, a bowl of strawberries balanced in between them.
    “Set those on the table, baby,” she said, handing the tray to Kendall before she went back to the kitchen.
    Her aunt made several more trips to the kitchen, until the table was set to her satisfaction. She took the seat across from Kendall.
    “Alright, Aunt Myra, I’m just going to come right out and say this. I believe Vivian has sent me here to check up on you…more specifically, to check out your finances,” she said, laughing at the surprise that fell over her aunt’s face. “I’ve been thinking about her motivations since she first asked me to visit you.”
    “Okay,” Myra said, more than a little surprised by Kendall’s words and her frank tone. She sat back in her chair to listen.
    “She was waiting at my home for me one day, almost two months ago, her monthly nosing-into-what’s-going-on-in-daughter-number-one’s-life visit. She must have gone through my things and found those statements for the trust that you and Uncle George established. It’s the only explanation I can come up with. It has to be about money—your will and Uncle George’s, and what she thinks is potentially her daughters’ future money.”
    “I thought that too. You and your sisters are the beneficiaries, after all. You’re the only family I have left. Does Vivian always go through your things?” Myra asked.
    “For as long as I can remember. Yes. ‘You live in my house, what’s yours is mine,’ was one of her famous sayings growing up. I’m used to it, and so is Lark, although she had a harder time dealing with Vivian than