“Which color is Beth?” Emily asked.
“Yellow,” Beth managed. “I'm yellow. See the highest yellow mark? That was my last birthday before I left for college. I was so mad that I wasn't taller.”
“You were five-foot-six,” Maggie said. “That's perfectly respectable.”
“Lauren was five-eight.”
“Lauren got her father's height. You got my mother's.”
“And I’ve done just fine, thank you very much, “ Grandma Sarah called from the kitchen, where she had claimed a seat at the table and was working on her second cup of coffee.
The tour continued, through the first-floor bathroom where Christopher had once tried to give himself a haircut with disastrous results, through the laundry room where Sarah had accidentally dyed all of Lauren's white clothes pink, through the mudroom where decades of boots and coats and sports equipment had come and gone.
And then they reached the stairs.
“The bedrooms,” Lauren said. “And the attic.”
“The attic,” Maggie echoed. “I’m afraid to go up there. I can’t imagine how much stuff we’ve got hidden in every corner.”
“Where is everyone?” Michael called from the front door.
“We’re up here getting ready to go through the bedrooms.”
Michael appeared at the bottom of the stairs, still in his jacket, his face flushed from the March cold.
“Traffic on 93 was a nightmare,” he said, shrugging off his jacket. “But I made it.”
Maggie descended the stairs and pulled him into a hug. “I'm so glad you're here. I didn't know if you could get away.”
“I took the day off. Told the captain I had family business.” Michael hugged her back, then pulled away to look at her face. “This is important, Mom. I wasn't going to miss it.”
“You took a whole day off?” Lauren asked from the top of the stairs. “The Boston Police Department can survive without you for a day?”
“Barely. They're probably falling apart as we speak.” Michael grinned up at his sister. “But some things matter more than work.”
Grandma Sarah emerged from the kitchen with her coffee cup. “Michael. Finally. I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost.”
“I don't get lost, Grandma. I'm a cop. Navigation is part of the job.”
“Then explain why you're late.”
“I'm not late. I said I'd be here around eleven. It's eleven-fifteen.”
“Fifteen minutes late is still late.”
“It's fashionably late.”
“There's no such thing as fashionably late. There's late and there's on time. You were late.”
Michael caught his mother’s eye and shook his head with a smile. Some things never changed, and Grandma Sarah's obsession with punctuality was one of them.
“Speaking of being here,” Lauren said, coming down a few steps, “I need to talk to you about the house. About the sale.”
Michael looked up at her. “What about it?”
“I'm going to handle it with help from Nell and Brian at my old office.” Lauren descended the rest of the stairs. “But since I'll be back in Florida, I need you to be the point person here. Nell and Brian can do the showings, and inspections, but if anything comes up or needs attention, I need you to work with them. And, of course, you’ll need to handle the closing for Mom. Can you do that?”
Michael didn't hesitate. “Of course. Whatever you need.”
