I took the landline receiver off its wall mount and dialed my father’s office line in Illinois.

Arthur answered on the second ring, his breath quick and heavy against the earpiece.

“Sarah,” he said, clearing his throat twice before going on.

“I was just packing up my briefcase to lock up the office.”

“Did you buy the plane tickets to New York, Dad?” I asked.

He cleared his throat a third time, a slow, dry rasp that went on for several seconds.

“Your mother took over the travel arrangements last month.”