His right hand was behind his back.
“What did you do?” I asked.
Grace pointed at him.
“Tell him to put it back!”
“Put what back?”
Harold brought his hand forward.
I covered my mouth.
“Tell him to put it back!”
He was holding Grace’s guest-room doorknob.
“Harold!” Grace breathed.
“What?”
“PUT THAT BACK!”
“Why?”
“Because that’s my room!”
“PUT THAT BACK!”
Harold glanced toward our bedroom.
The one without a door.
Then back at her.
“In my house?”
Grace flinched.
“I need privacy!”
Harold waited half a second.
“From family?”
“I need privacy!”
I had to turn away.
Not because I was horrified.
Because laughing would have ruined it.
“That is completely different!”
“How, Mom?”
“I’m a guest!”
“And Tina lives here.”
“That is completely different!”
Grace pointed at the doorknob.
“You had no right to touch my door while I was sleeping.”
Harold nodded.
“So you understand the concept.”
“I am your mother.”
“Yes.”
“And mothers deserve respect.”
“So do wives.”
“I am your mother.”
Grace looked at me as though I’d somehow orchestrated the entire thing from downstairs.
I raised both hands.
“I was eating pudding.”
“Harold, put my doorknob back,” she demanded.
