You’re a transient tenant in your own hometown.”

Evelyn drifted away from the window, her soft velvet slippers silent on the Oriental rug.

“Come into the dining room, Bradley,” Evelyn said gently.

“I’d like to show you the family albums from the past five years.”

We went into the dining room, where a silver-trimmed photo album already lay open on the long polished table.

Evelyn turned the thick black pages with slow, careful fingers and stopped at a picture taken around a crowded holiday table.

“This was Thanksgiving three years ago,” Evelyn said, laying a manicured nail beside an empty chair at the end of the table.