I asked "What up, Yara?", he replied, "I have a cold faint fear thrills through my veins." Always the Shakespearean. Then he said that Gora had hit him with a bottle.
Twenty minutes before that, Gora had rung from downstairs, and Yara buzzed her in. "How are you?" he asked. "How do you think I am? Don’t pretend you care," she snapped. "I am concerned. Just asking. Do you want a drink? I have a nice Pinot Grigio." "You know I cannot drink red wine!" "Pinot Grigio is white!" "Don’t tell me! That’s how it is with you: you’re always right, and I’m always wrong." Yara took the bottle from the fridge and poured two glasses, making sure his hand covered the label. "Here you are: Za Mir!" She picked up the bottle, read the label, and her face distorted with fury as she swung it at his head. Yara stumbled and fell, Gora dropped the bottle and ran out.
Twenty minutes before that, Yara was reading an email from Dr. Foster. According to him, his sister had PPD, a pattern of distrust and suspicion, always on guard and believing that others are trying to demean, harm, or threaten her. He advised Yara to placate and not contradict her, but not in an obvious way. If she felt patronized or talked down to, she could become violent.
Twenty minutes before that, Yara had opened the door and let Belzy in from the cold.
