“No.”
Peter, who joined by video call, said, “I’m deeply moved that after forty years of professional service, my legacy is convincing one family to read contracts.”
“You dreamed too small,” I told him.
Moving into Saguaro Ridge felt different from moving out of Daniel’s house.
The first move had been about leaving.
The second was about arriving.
Linda helped choose curtains.
I chose pale ones that let the morning sun through.
Jack assembled another bookshelf, this time without pretending he had read the directions.
Emily selected a bright yellow cushion for the patio.
Rebecca brought a housewarming gift.
A coffee maker.
Not Italian.
Not expensive.
A simple black machine with one button.
“I thought you should have one that belongs to this house,” she said.
I looked at her.
“That may be the most thoughtful insult to Italian engineering I’ve ever received.”
She laughed.
Daniel carried boxes from the garage.
At one point, I heard him call from the hallway.
“Mom, where do you want Dad?”
I knew exactly what he meant.
Arthur’s photograph.
“Living room.”
Daniel placed it on the mantel.
He adjusted it twice.
Then stepped back.
“Here?”
“Perfect.”
That evening, all four of them stayed for dinner.
