Chapter 10: Christmas Morning

The moving truck turned onto Mill Road at seven fifty-eight on Christmas morning.

I watched it from the kitchen window with a mug of coffee going cold in my hands.

It was a big white box truck with a cartoon beaver on the side.

Spence's black Range Rover was right behind it.

"He meant it," I said.

"He meant it," Bennet said.

He was already lacing his boots at the kitchen table.

My grandmother sat across from him in her robe, very upright, her hands folded around her tea.

She'd been awake since four.

I knew because I'd heard her walking through every room in the house, touching things.

Deena came down the stairs in a camel coat with her car keys in her hand.

She had a suitcase.

It was my grandmother's suitcase.

"I packed Mother's essentials," she said. "Her pills and her nightgowns. The rest goes to storage."

"You're not taking her anywhere," I said.

"I'm taking her to my condo in Butler until we figure out the care situation. Unless you'd rather she go back to the Manor."

My grandmother put down her tea.

"I would rather," she said, "be dead in this kitchen."

Deena flinched.

The doorbell rang.

Bennet got up and walked to the front door and opened it and didn't step aside.

Spence stood on the porch in his camel cashmere with four movers behind him in red company jackets.

Snow was coming down in fat slow flakes behind them.

"Morning, Buddy. Merry Christmas." Spence held up the leather folder. "I own this house. Step aside."

"No," Bennet said.

"Excuse me?"

"No," Bennet said again, in exactly the same voice.

He was just standing in the doorway.

He filled it.

The biggest mover shifted his feet.

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