“You always make your money stretch, Iris, so it doesn’t hurt you,” Arthur said, waving his hand toward the kitchen.

“Chelsea, go show your mother the stitched leather on your center console.”

Chelsea jumped up right away, laughing as she pulled Eleanor by the hand toward the front door.

Arthur followed them out to the driveway, leaving his coat hanging on the wooden post near the hall.

On the floor beside Chelsea’s chair, the unopened camera lens box lay forgotten under the discarded red bow.

Arthur tapped his silver spoon against his water glass and cleared his throat before standing up at the head of the dark oak dining table.