Eleanor laid her spoon down on the tile with a sharp metal clink.

“A real family celebrates under one roof, not in some noisy city dining room.”

“Answer the question, Eleanor.”

“I only keep track so supper doesn’t go cold on the stove,” she said.

Daniel came into the kitchen in his gray fleece pullover and leather slippers.

He glanced at the closed green ledger under his mother’s arm, then at the cold mug in my hand.

“What’s the fight about before breakfast?” Daniel asked.