“Your mother authorized the office to discuss her care with me.”
Mom stared at him.
“What did he say?”
Instead of answering immediately, Dad walked to the closet.
He reached onto the top shelf and pulled down an old shoebox.
The second Mom saw it, her expression changed.
“Where did you get that?”
Dad opened the box.
Then removed an old photograph.
Before Mom could take it, the doorbell rang.
A second later, someone started knocking hard.
Dad froze.
I went downstairs.
When I opened the door, Aunt Linda was standing on the porch.
She was Mom’s younger sister.
She lived almost an hour away, but she looked as though she had rushed out without thinking.
Her hair was pulled into a crooked ponytail.
She didn’t even have her purse.
“Chiara.”
She stepped inside.
“Where is she?”
I caught her arm.
“Why are you here?”
Linda stopped.
Her expression answered before her mouth did.
“Your dad called me.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
Footsteps sounded above us.
Mom appeared at the top of the stairs wearing her robe.
“Linda?”
Aunt Linda looked up.
Mom’s eyes moved from her sister to Dad, who had followed her into the hallway.
Something in her face hardened.
“Everybody upstairs.”
Dad reached toward her elbow.
“Cindy, you need to rest.”
“And apparently I also need to find out what everybody else already knows.”
Nobody argued after that.
Back in the bedroom, Mom carefully lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.
“Give me the photograph.”
