Your parents told me they had maintained regular contact with you.
They said your grandfather’s illness had caused a serious deterioration in your ability to function.”
I looked at Dad.
He stared at Nora.
“They described plans to move here to care for you,” Marianne continued.
“They specifically represented that keeping you in familiar surroundings was essential.”
Mom bent to pick up the bags.
No one helped her.
Nora placed a hand on the study door.
“Let’s sit down.”
“I’d rather they left,” I whispered.
“Then they will,” she said.
“But there are documents you should see first, if you’re able.”
I looked around the hallway.
The little pencil marks on the doorframe.
Grandpa’s reading glasses beside the telephone.
My parents standing beneath the roof that had sheltered me from them.
“All right,” I said.
This time, my mother didn’t smile.
Grandpa’s study smelled of furniture wax and old paper.
