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She’s made pork chops too often, that’s probably it. Troy pushes the meat around his plate, his arms so jerky he can scarcely sit. Pork chops are one of his favorites—or used to be, back when he’d tell her such things as favorites. He raises his eyes from his plate and squints at her. “What you looking at?” He’d never say that, were his father still alive—Gary would never have tolerated such a surly tone. And Michelle would be furious, were she to hear it. But she’s boycotting the house as long as her brother lives here. Still her voice