We’ll explain everything tomorrow.
You won’t be alone.”
So at eight-thirty the morning after the funeral, I let them in.
Nora carried a briefcase.
Marianne brought her worn satchel.
They settled in Grandpa’s study while I stood in the kitchen trying to remember how to make coffee.
At nine-oh-three, the moving truck arrived.
At nine-oh-seven, my mother told me I was a burden.
At nine-oh-nine, my father put his hand on my arm.
“Let’s be sensible,” he said.
“You can stay somewhere inexpensive until you find your feet.”
I looked down at his fingers.
It was the first time he had touched me in seventeen years.
I stepped away.
Mom picked up the garbage bags from the bench and shook them open.
“Clara, we don’t have all morning.”
From upstairs came Chloe’s footsteps.
Then the study door clicked.
Marianne appeared first.
Nora stood just behind her.
