At half past seven, Brenda stood up to carry the empty mugs back to the kitchen, her charm bracelet clinking against the stoneware.
“I’ll help you with those, Brenda,” I said, glad for an excuse to stand and break the hold of Arthur’s steady stare.
“Oh, don’t worry about it, dear,” Brenda said, her voice brittle. “You stay right there and finish your visit.”
I stood anyway, my joints a little stiff from the low sofa, and realized my hands were empty.
“I should grab my planner from the kitchen counter before we go,” I said, stepping toward the arched entryway of the hallway.
David remained on the sofa, leaning forward to ask his father about the alternator on the old riding mower.
I walked down the narrow, dimly lit hallway toward the kitchen, my flat shoes silent on the thick wool runner.
The kitchen was quiet now, the overhead fluorescent lights switched off, leaving only the amber glow of the small light above the stove.
The dark granite counter near the window was completely bare, the surface wiped down to a clean, reflective shine.
