Eleanor stood over the bed gripping a pair of heavy silver electric clippers, the lapels of her floral robe fluttering as she pulled her chin back.

“You needed to be brought back down to earth,” Eleanor said, her voice clipped and dry as dead leaves.

I scrambled off the mattress toward the wall, groping for the bedside lamp switch, but the hall light was already on.

Daniel stepped into the doorway in his gray flannel trousers, rubbing the back of his neck with his thumb as he looked down at the heap of hair on my pillow.

He crossed to his mother, took the silver clippers out of her hand without looking at her, and flipped the power switch off.