I stood by the wingback chair while Arthur unbuttoned his wool overcoat and hung it in the front closet.

“Why do you let her treat me like a stranger in this family?” I asked.

Arthur stopped with his hands on the wooden hanger.

He cleared his throat three times, his right hand reaching on instinct for his vest pocket.

He took out his silver pocket watch, flipped open the cover, and stared at the second hand moving around the dial.

“Your mother manages the family image, Sarah,” Arthur said.