"Andrew, give me the gun," I said, shadowing him as he moved around the table, advancing to where Father stood, but it was like I was talking to a rock. He couldn't hear or see me. Couldn't hear or see anything but Father.
"You're such a tyrant. Everything always has to go your way, and now that I'm older, I realize how stupid I've been, letting you dictate my life. I was too much of a wimp to let you know that we loved each other and she was carrying my baby. Mine, you dirty old man."
"Andrew," I said, more firmly this time. "Hand me the damn gun. Now. Don't do something you'll regret later."
Father was unperturbed by the pistol, dragging his eyes from him to Helen for a few minutes. I couldn't practically imagine the wheels in his mind turning into place as he finally understood. But Andrew wasn't through with his ranting.
"You've never loved me. Never cared. It's always about Abel. Always about Andre!"
