Chapter 8: House Rules

"Annika, go to bed," Gunnar said.

His voice was perfectly pleasant.

He did not look at the dryer again.

I went up the back stairs with my heart going so hard I had to sit on the landing.

Below me, through the floor, I heard his voice say something low, and Nils's say, "Yes, sir."

That was all.

In the morning I found out what the folder was for.

My mother was in the kitchen in her robe, making coffee.

The hall drawer where the family keys hung was slightly open.

Her phone was in it.

It lay on top of a pile of takeout menus with its screen dark.

"Mom," I said.

"Good morning, honey."

"Why is your phone in the drawer?" I asked.

"Gunnar thinks it's good for me to unplug," she said.

She turned with the pot and smiled.

"I was on it too much, honestly. It's very peaceful."

"You were on it to talk to me," I said.

"Well, you're here now," she said.

"Mom. Take it out," I said.

"Annika." She set the pot down. "It's an adjustment."

"He's been alone a long time, and he likes things a certain way."

"I can give him that. Where is the harm?"

I looked at her.

She was fifty-four, with graying hair and her reading glasses pushed on top of her head.

She had raised me on a school-lunch manager's pay.

She had held my father's hand for three months while he was dying.

I had never once seen her ask permission to buy a coat.

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