I carried the groceries into the kitchen.
Boxes I had never seen crowded the counters. A new coffee machine sat beside six bottles of imported sparkling water. My ceramic canisters had been moved to the top of the refrigerator.
I opened the lower cabinet.
My blue enamel soup pot was gone.
It had been on the same shelf for twenty-seven years.
I had made soup in that pot when Lucas had the flu as a child. I used it after my husband’s surgery. I carried it to neighbors’ houses when someone lost a job or a parent. I used it the night Lucas told us he planned to marry Sarah.
Now Linda’s wineglasses stood in its place.
I stayed crouched in front of the cabinet longer than necessary.
Sarah came into the kitchen.
“My mother needs her things where she can reach them.”
I stood.
“Where’s the pot?”
“What pot?”
I looked at her.
She knew.
“The blue enamel one.”
“Oh.” She shrugged. “Probably in the basement. We needed the space.”
We again.
I closed the cabinet.
“Tell me the truth now, Sarah, and we can still deal with this privately.”
Her shoulders tightened.
“I have told you the truth.”
“No. You’ve told me pieces. I’m asking for the rest.”
Lucas appeared in the doorway.
“Mom, can we please not do this today?”
I turned to him.
“What day would work better? Tomorrow, after their mail starts coming here? Next week, after someone changes the locks? Or after Sarah tells people I can’t handle my own affairs?”
His face changed.
It was a tiny reaction.
But I saw it.
So did Sarah.
I stared at him.
“Lucas. Look at me.”
He did.
“When did you last talk to a lawyer about this house?”
Sarah dropped one hand to her side.
Lucas swallowed.
“It wasn’t a lawyer.”
“What was it?”
“A financial adviser.”
“Whose?”
“Ours.”
I waited.
He shifted his weight.
“We were just talking about options.”
“What options?”
“Mom—”
“What options?”
Sarah stepped closer.
“We were trying to protect the property.”
“From whom?”
She didn’t answer.
I turned toward the stove, filled the kettle, and put it on the burner.
Linda came in behind Lucas and stared at me.
“You’re making tea?”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“I make tea at five.”
The kitchen clock read 5:12.
Since my husband died, I had almost never missed that ritual.
Sarah folded her arms.
“This is exactly what I mean. We’re trying to discuss long-term arrangements, and you’re acting like we’ve invaded your house.”
“You arrived with a moving truck.”
“My parents had nowhere else to go.”
“What happened to their apartment?”
“There was a dispute with the landlord.”
“What kind?”
“It’s private.”
“Then it should have stayed outside my front door until somebody asked me.”
Bill had followed Linda into the kitchen.
His face reddened.
“We paid that landlord for nine years. Then suddenly he claimed we owed months of rent.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Linda touched his sleeve.
“Bill.”
He pulled his arm away.
“We had an arrangement.”
Sarah interrupted.
“The point is they were forced out.”
“The point is nobody told me.”
Lucas moved farther into the kitchen.
“It was only supposed to be temporary.”
“Then why did Sarah tell them you were taking over my house?”
“I never said that,” Sarah snapped.
Bill gave a short, humorless laugh.
“You said Lucas would own it soon enough.”
The kettle hadn’t started boiling yet, but the kitchen felt completely still.
I looked at Lucas.
His mouth had gone pale.
Sarah turned on her father.