Serena, instead of snapping, squeezed back. “Thanks, Mom. You know… the yams are really good this year, Chloe.”
Mark snorted. “Oh, for God’s sake, Cora—” Mistress Of Hypnosis Holidazed
No one had wanted to invite Cora. She was Mark’s eccentric younger cousin, the one who’d dropped out of medical school to run a “hypnotherapy and holistic resonance” studio in a refurbished shipping container. She arrived late, wearing a velvet cloak the color of a thunderstorm and carrying a fruitcake that looked alarmingly like a lump of clay. Serena, instead of snapping, squeezed back
“Shhh, Chloe,” Cora whispered, turning the pendulum’s gentle arc toward her. “You’ve been holding so much tension in your shoulders. Just let it drip away, like honey from a spoon. Down, down, down.” “Oh, for God’s sake, Cora—” No one had
Seven heads lifted. But these were not the same people who had been snarling over the yams.