A bottle

Uncle Collin took the silver flask out of his pocket and drank a swig. Agnes could smell the whiskey from the opposite side of the dinner table.

“Father Doherty, even if Prohibition’s been over two years,” Norman said, “I’d appreciate if you didn’t drink spirits at my table.”

Uncle Collin glared through his thick black-framed glasses at Norman.

“Young man,” he baritoned, “you are most impertinent. What you’ve done with this girl, I shudder to even think about. As for your soul, I can only advise you to repent and speak with your priest about penance. But my niece, she must first admit that what she did was a sin.”

Keaton sat at Agnes’s feet, shaking and pleading with sad eyes to her, please let me jump up on your lap. Or take me for a walk.

“Uncle Collin, please quiet down,” said Agnes, glad that Grace was upstairs taking her nap. “You’re frightening the dog. And this is Mama’s last dinner here before she moves away, so please. Can’t we all just get along?”