“No.”
“Who prepared it?”
“My husband.”
“How long have you been drinking it?”
I swallowed.
“Thirty-five years.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“Thirty-five?”
“Yes.”
She glanced at the bottle again.
“Does your husband know you’re having this tested?”
“No.”
She didn’t ask another question.
She simply wrote something on the form.
Then she told me the results would take several days.
I left feeling ridiculous.
Maybe I was overreacting.
Maybe Victor had been telling the truth all along.
Maybe it really was just some harmless family recipe.
But three days later, my phone rang.
It was the laboratory.
“Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes?”
“We’d like you to come in.”
“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
There was a pause.
“We would prefer to explain the results in person.”
My stomach tightened.
“Is it dangerous?”
Another pause.
“Please come in.”
I drove there with both hands gripping the steering wheel.
Emily came with me.
I hadn’t told her everything.
