At half past four, heavy footsteps rattled the porch boards outside the front door.

Harper was dragging two matching leather suitcases up the wide wooden steps, her breath steaming in the sharp air.

“Julian’s investment partners are driving down from Richmond tomorrow night for Thanksgiving,” Harper said, dropping the heavy bags against the wall with a loud thump.

“Harper, this is my house,” I said, standing in the doorway.

“Dad put the down payment on this place six years ago, Eleanor,” Harper said, pulling the heavy lapels of her dark coat tight around her neck.

“It was family money right from the start.”