“I’m not giving up my bedroom,” I said.

Arthur reached across the table, snatched up the yellow sheet, and folded it in half with a sharp snap.

“Then don’t expect me to cover your mortgage shortfall when the bank comes knocking next month,” he said.

“You’ve got until tomorrow morning to clear your things out of that room.”

He got up from the table and carried his plate to the counter without a backward look.

Martha pushed her chair back, her eyes glued to the tablecloth.