“I will.”
“When?”
“Harold, put my doorknob back.”
“When ours is back.”
She stared at him.
“You expect me to rehang that door?”
“You got it down, Mom.”
“At eleven o’clock at night?”
“Tomorrow is fine.”
Grace looked toward her guest room.
“Until then?”
“You expect me to rehang that door?”
Harold shrugged.
“A family shouldn’t need all these barriers.”
I chortled.
I couldn’t help it.
Grace glared at me.
“This isn’t funny.”
“No,” I said.
Then I looked at the knob in Harold’s hand.
“Maybe a little.”
“This isn’t funny.”
Grace stormed into the guest room and pushed the door closed.
It didn’t latch the way she wanted.
She opened it again.
“Harold!”
“Tomorrow, Mom.”
He walked toward our room.
I followed him.
“Tomorrow, Mom.”
There was nowhere to close ourselves in, obviously.
We got ready for bed in full view of the hallway.
Harold hung his robe on a chair.
“Are you mad?”
“At you?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Less than I was at five.”
“Are you mad?”
“That’s progress.”
“But we’re not done.”
Harold sat on the edge of the bed.
“I know.”
“You told her twice. And then I was still the one having to explain why I didn’t want your mother walking in while I was changing.”
