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sorry, Rachel, I really am. But we’re going to have to move into my room. Lance is on the warpath, and I want to keep the peace with Mom. If there was another bedroom with a balcony, we could sleep there. But there isn’t.”
    He stepped toward the door and gave her as decisive a look as he could manage.
    “Go ahead and pack up your things. I’m going to run down and get my bags. Dinner is in an hour. We need to change.”
    Rachel just stared at him and didn’t answer.
    “Okay, Rach?”
    Instead of answering, she grabbed her cigarettes, yanked open the sliding glass door to the balcony, and slammed it shut behind her.

Chapter Eleven

    Stephen left the bedroom door open and ran downstairs to grab his suitcase. He bumped into Lance in the living room, who was kneeling down on the floor with a paper towel, cleaning up after the Yorkie.
    “I talked to Rachel. We’re moving into my room. We’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”
    “Thank God,” Lance said, the relief obvious in his voice. “I can’t stand the thought of all my collections being subjected to that smoke. They’re very valuable, you know.”
    “Well, it’s not a problem now—” Stephen began.
    “I don’t like other people messing around with my things. It’s quite upsetting.”
    “I get it, Lance,” Stephen said testily. “I told you she’s moving out. Drop it.”
    Stephen picked up the suitcase and climbed the staircase again. When he reached Lance’s room, the door was closed. He tried the knob. It was locked.
    “Damn it, Rachel! Open this door. Now!”
    No answer.
    “I’m not kidding, Rachel. Open the door!”
    No answer.
    “Goddamn it!” Stephen knew it was no use. She did the same thing at home when she got mad. She wouldn’t come out until she was good and ready.
    He left his suitcase in the hallway and started to walk slowly back down the staircase. Loaded down with all of his and his wife’s luggage, Lance was standing at the foot of the stairs. Yvette stood beside him holding her Yorkie and her purse.
    Stephen stopped halfway down the staircase when he saw them.
    “Uh,” he muttered, not sure what to say.
    “What’s wrong,” Lance asked. “Is she out?”
    “Well—not exactly.”
    “What do you mean ‘not exactly’?” Lance asked, his eyes narrowing.
    Stephen looked away. “She’s locked herself in.”
    “What!” Lance exploded. “I want that bitch out of my room.”
    Stephen’s face flushed. “Don’t you call my wife a bitch.”
    “What would you call her? What’s wrong with her?”
    Lance dropped the suitcases and raced up the stairs, pushing past Stephen.
    He ran down the hall and began pounding on his bedroom door.
    “Rachel! Rachel! I need you to vacate my room immediately!”
    No answer.
    “Rachel! I must insist. I have valuables in my room that must be protected.”
    No answer.
    “Rachel!”
    “What’s going on,” Glen asked, coming out of the bedroom down the hall. Gwen was right on his heels.
    Lance stepped over to give each of them a hug. “Glen, Gwen, how are you? I’m sorry we have to meet this way after not seeing each other since last year, but Rachel has locked herself in my room and won’t come out.”
    Glen rolled his eyes and made a circular motion with his forefinger next to his temple. “Cuckoo!”
    Gwen stepped forward and rapped on the door. “Rachel! Stop acting like a child and come out of there.”
    Lance said to his sister, “I don’t want Rachel in there with all of my valuables. She smokes like a chimney and who knows what else she’s on. She could burn the house down!”
    Disgusted, Stephen told his brother, “My wife is not going to burn the house down.”
    Sally came up the stairs when she heard them and joined the group. “What’s all the commotion about?”
    “Mom, do you have a key to my room?” Lance asked. “Rachel has locked herself in.”
    Sally frowned and shook her head. “No, unfortunately the rooms lock from the inside only. They don’t have