Then I went home.
Peter met me at the door.
“How was it?”
“Interesting.”
I told him about Stephanie.
About the whisper.
About the three chairs.
He listened without interrupting.
Then he asked, “And tomorrow?”
“We’ll see.”
The next afternoon, I began clearing the spare room myself.
At one o’clock, I made sandwiches.
At two, I folded blankets.
By three, I’d checked the driveway four times.
Joel hadn’t called.
Then my phone finally rang.
“Mom, listen, I’m absolutely shattered.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Are you coming?”
“Could we do next weekend? The kids kept us up, and I’ve had a long week.”
I looked around the room.
Boxes everywhere.
An old wardrobe blocking the doorway.
“Peter’s sister arrives in nine days, Joel. That’s why I need help.”
“Can’t Dad manage it?”
“Your father is 67.”
“Mom, it’s only furniture.”
