Walter watched them for several seconds.
Then he looked back at me.
“Could the children go into the living room for a few minutes?”
Something cold moved through my stomach.
Walter had never asked my children to leave before.
Not once.
They were always around him.
They climbed onto his chair.
They followed him into the garden.
They asked him questions he sometimes answered with stories that lasted longer than anyone expected.
And he always seemed happiest when the house was loud.
So why did he suddenly need privacy?
I looked at my husband.
He gave me a small nod.
“Kids,” I said, forcing a smile, “why don’t you go pick a movie? Grandpa will be there in a minute.”
“Are you coming?” my youngest asked Walter.
Walter swallowed.
“In a little while.”
The children disappeared into the living room.
The moment they were gone, Walter lowered his eyes.
“I should have told you a long time ago.”
My husband leaned forward.
“Told us what?”
Walter looked at me.
“I didn’t move here by accident.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
He pointed toward the window.
Toward the small house next door.
“I knew you lived here before I bought that house.”
