Arthur stopped just inside the foyer, his expression moving from surprise to irritation.

“Richard, you’ve made your point,” he said.

“Now tell these officers they can leave.

We have a household to organize.”

Uncle Richard did not move.

“They’re here because Samuel asked me to make certain his house stayed undisturbed until his wishes could be explained.

And because Clara asked for help this morning.”

Dad turned toward me.

He had scarcely looked at me since arriving, except to tell me to get out of the movers’ way.

“You called the sheriff on your own parents?”

“I called Richard,” I answered.

“He made the arrangements.”

Mom’s eyes narrowed.

“You always did know how to make yourself look helpless.”

I thought of Grandpa sitting beside me when I was eleven, patiently showing me how to mend a ripped school uniform.

I thought of him teaching me to plant tomatoes and change the oil in his pickup.

He had never treated me as helpless.

Mom simply didn’t know any other version of me.