Raising The Dead. Mara Purnhagen

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      “We didn’t think this would be something you would be interested in,” Mom rushed to add.

      “I’m not.” I had no intention of lifting coffin lids and peeking in. But I was used to being a part of the family team. It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be involved in some small way. “I was thinking of clerical stuff or research or whatever. But if you don’t need me, that’s fine.”

      “Clerical work,” Mom repeated. “I’m sure we could come up with something.”

      “You could work from home.” Dad smiled. “We’ll call you if we need anything.”

      It was a brush-off, and despite the fact that this was not a project I was eager to get too involved with, my parents’ quick dismissal of me stung. After dinner I went to my room and called Annalise.