He stared down at me, chin lifted high, his tone glacial and merciless. "Dorothy, you brought this on yourself. Your mother died because she was shameless. She loved a free ride, faked being sick to scam her way into surgery. That's no one's fault but hers. And you had no right to use her death to curse my mother at her birthday banquet, spreading your bad luck to everyone here."
"If you ask me, your mother deserved to die young for raising an ungrateful, disrespectful daughter like you."
The words had barely left his mouth when the doors to the memorial hall opened with a soft creak.
My mother stood in the doorway, holding a modestly wrapped birthday gift she'd prepared for her mother-in-law. She looked out at the crowded courtyard, then at Clay's contorted, furious face, and blinked in confusion.
"What's going on? Clay, I just got here from the airport. I brought a gift for your mother." She paused, glancing around. "Why does it sound like someone's talking about a death?"