The front door stood directly across the hallway.
Beside it were the brass numbers.
17.
Dad had been planning to live there with Lisa.
Mom had quietly given the house an entirely different future.
“Did she tell you why?” I asked.
The woman chuckled softly.
“She never gave some dramatic explanation. She just said people shouldn’t have to sleep in hospital chairs because they happen to live two hours away.”
I had to sit down.
That sounded exactly like Mom.
Then I asked the question I had been carrying since the day I overheard Dad and Lisa.
“Did she know?”
“Know what?”
“About my father and my aunt.”
The woman was silent for a moment.
“Cathy never directly said anything like that.”
“But?”
“She once told me the house felt strange lately.”
“What did she mean?”
“She said people around her seemed to be talking about the future instead of talking to her about it.”
