Chapter 4: Sunrise at the Lake House

The road opened at six, and I was on it by six-fifteen with a gas-station coffee and no sleep.

The lake was white from shore to shore, and my grandmother's house sat above it with every window lit.

Cal was on the porch steps, wearing a canvas jacket and holding a thermos.

He stood up when I got out of the car.

He was taller than I remembered from the funeral, with a short beard and snow in his hair.

"Morning," he said.

"Did anyone take anything else?"

"Not since I sat on the chest. Though I can't promise about the kitchen."

He didn't say anything kind, and I was grateful for that.

I went up the steps.

The front door stood open, and snow had blown in across the floor of the hall.

My grandmother's wedding portrait was lying face down on the bench, with a boot print across the back of the frame.

The quilt rack was in two pieces.

Someone had emptied the drawers in the back bedroom onto the bed and walked through the pile.

I stopped in the living room doorway.

There were a dozen people in my house.

Most of them were asleep on the couches in their coats, with paper plates and cans on every flat surface.

Marcy sat in my grandmother's rocking chair by the stove, wearing my grandmother's blue robe.

She was drinking from my grandmother's good cup, the one with the gold rim that nobody was allowed to use.

She saw me and put the cup down very gently.

"Greta," she said. "I am so sorry about the misunderstanding."

"Get out," I said.

A man on the couch sat up.

"Hey, easy. We've been here since midnight, and there's a kid upstairs."

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