The porch light flickered above my head, casting long shadows across her face.

“When did it happen?”

“The Tuesday before last.”

“Why wasn’t I told?”

“There was no point in upsetting you,” Brenda said.

“We kept it small and private.

Just the immediate family.

We did not need the local papers digging up your mistakes.”

I looked past her shoulder into the house I grew up in.

The old floral wallpaper was gone.

The walls were painted a sterile white.

A new crystal chandelier hung in the foyer where the brass ceiling fan used to be.

The wooden stairs were covered with an expensive gray runner.

“I want to see his office.”