There's bound to be a ghost at the back of your closet
No matter where you live

Antigone had left the room before him that morning, which was a relief. He'd pretended to be asleep until he'd heard the door close behind her, to avoid speaking to her again. He had nothing to say, and no energy to fight with her. At least, not before he'd had breakfast. Man could not survive on bile and spite alone.

His wife had left before dawn, and where she'd gone, he frankly didn't care. She wasn't at the breakfast table when he reached it, though a few other family members had already filtered in and taken places sporadically along the long table. The definition of family was far too inclusive for his tastes, this weekend, but there was nothing to be done about that. With any luck, he could get through at least his first meal of the day without needing to socialize with anyone he didn't care to.

"Pass the coffee, please," he said curtly but politely to the relative next to him, as he turned his mug over and glanced around the table to see what was being offered that morning.

Open to anyone who might be at the breakfast table; Evelyn Abercrombie dibsed one of the two rooms bordering Anti's but open to one other who could hear them arguing the night before.