“Are you really going to sell Grandpa’s house?”
The words came from Paisley.
Not Brenda.
My granddaughter must have come close enough to hear.
Everything inside me softened at once.
“Sweetheart,” I said, “Grandpa and I made that house together, and I’m just thinking about what should happen next. Nobody needs to worry.”
“Can we still have cake?”
Children have a gift for finding the only question that matters.
I closed my eyes.
“Yes, honey. You can still have cake.”
“Mom,” Brenda said quietly, “I’ll call you later.”
The line disconnected.
For the next hour I cleaned a kitchen that was already clean.
At noon, Ellen called.
“I’m back in my car,” she said.
“How bad was it?”
“The house?”
“My family.”
“They were surprised.”
“That’s diplomatic.”
“I sell real estate. Diplomacy keeps the lights on.”
I sat down.
“What did you see?”
“The house is in excellent condition. Robert kept up with things. There are cosmetic changes a buyer might make, but nothing urgent.”
