For Cheddar or Worse by Avery Aames

hinted that Lara helped destroy a few properties. Maybe unsettling Erin and forcing her to divest of her family’s farm was Lara’s endgame.
    â€œLara,” I said, not sure what else I might add but ready to intervene.
    Andrew tapped the drumstick against his leg.
    Lara didn’t falter. “Do you have a beef with me, Andy?”
    Andrew’s mouth moved in time to the tapping but no words came out. The tambourine jangled because his movements were so jerky.
    â€œAndrew, don’t,” Erin whispered. “Sweetheart. Please.” She glowered at Lara. “You said you understood that he’s challenged.”
    â€œI do understand, darling,” Lara said, her tone haughty, “but that doesn’t mean I have to abide you parading him around to make a fool of me.”
    â€œI’m not parading—”
    â€œYes, you are. You want to win the sympathy vote. You want everyone here to think I’m an ogre.” She gazed at Andrew. “Look at him. Not an iota of eye contact.” Lara rapped the side of her head. “No one’s home.”
    Andrew lashed the table near Lara with the drumstick.
    â€œAndrew, no!” Erin cried.
    Lara reeled back. “Get him out of here, Erin. Right. Now.”
    â€œLara,” I said, rising from the table.
    Jordan echoed me.
    â€œYou two, stay out of it,” she ordered.
    Erin corralled her brother. She placed a hand on the drumstick. “Andrew, keep calm.”
    â€œCalm,” Andrew echoed.
    â€œCount.”
    â€œCount,” he repeated.
    â€œBy tens.”
    Andrew began to tap the drumstick on the tambourine. “Ten, twenty, thirty . . .”
    â€œLet’s go to your room, sweetheart.” Erin gripped her brother’s elbow and guided him toward the foyer.
    When they disappeared, I couldn’t hold back. Every fiber in me was quivering with rage. “Lara,” I said. “You had no right.”
    â€œPlease. Not you, too. Why do I bother?” Lara pushed back her chair. She faltered. “I’m going upstairs. I have a splitting headache.” She grabbed her Prada purse off the floor, swooped up the platter of cheese and fruit that was set in the middle of the table as well as the bottle of cabernet and the near-empty wineglass, and staggered out of the dining room.
    I gaped at Jordan. His mouth was hanging open, too. Shayna’s teeth were clenched. Ryan’s jaw ticked with tension.
    Kandice plucked at her hairdo. Her lips were quivering. “What just happened?” she asked.
    Victor said, “Hurricane Lara blew through and decimated the island.”
    â€œDoes she . . .” I stammered. “Do you know this side of her?”
    Victor shrugged.
    Silence fell over the lot of us. I could hear the
ticktock
of the grandfather clock in the living room. The twin waitresses entered through the archway, each carrying a tray of dessert selections, but no one wanted any of them. The sprightly nature of the event was doused. Minutes later, everyone went their separate ways.
    By ten, Jordan and I were tucked into bed. He fell asleep instantly. I tried to read more of Lara’s book—I wanted to reread the section on Midwest cheeses—but I couldn’t get past two pages. I wasn’t sure I could ever read another word written by her.
    I slept fitfully. Around two A.M. I stirred. Had I heard adoor open and close? I curled into Jordan and whispered, “Are you awake?”
    He mumbled, “Now I am.”
    â€œCan I ask you a question?”
    â€œCan I stop you?” He faced me and cupped a hand behind my head. “Go on.”
    â€œDo you think Erin will cancel the event?”
    â€œShe’s a businesswoman. This brain trust has brought all sorts of people to the farm. The revenue will be a boon to her. She’ll rally. Promise. In the morning, she will have found her smile, we’ll continue with day two of the brain