“Top shelf, behind the spare quilts,” Vanessa said.

“Don’t drag them on the wood stairs.

I spent forty minutes dusting those risers this morning.”

My mother came into the kitchen carrying a ceramic platter of link sausages.

She put it down on the granite counter and pointed at the front staircase.

“Hurry, Rachel,” my mother said.

“The pancakes come out of the oven in three minutes, and I want the table set before the butter melts.”

I turned and went back out into the front hall, passing my father’s open study door.