I could tell Vivian was going to try to shut things down and kick me out of the house, but her mother was a force to be reckoned with, apparently. Even as the Queen of Wheat inhaled to either a) tell me to leave or b) deliver some kind of scathing comment about her mother (if her disdainful and angry expression that overwhelmed the typical tight control she held was an indicator) or c) explode/implode/lose her marbles, Rachelle French, her overgrown fingernails biting into my arm ...