By half past four on Thanksgiving morning, the pot on the stove was already humming with steam.

Harper came into the kitchen in a long maroon silk robe.

She put a heavy black leather laptop case down on the edge of the island.

“Julian needs the master suite emptied before seven,” Harper said.

Julian came in right behind her, his Audi keys pressed into his palm.

He pulled out a stool and sat down across from me.

“The morning desk work starts early,” Julian said.