She glanced toward the fireplace.
“Moving Paul’s picture was disrespectful.”
“Yes,” I said. “It was.”
She nodded, accepting that I wasn’t ready to reassure her.
Daniel went into the garage.
He returned carrying Paul’s portrait, still wrapped in the old blanket we’d used when redecorating years earlier.
He carefully removed Brittany’s photograph and rehung his father’s.
Then he began returning my furniture to its proper places.
Brittany collected the decorations and packed the unopened presents.
I didn’t help them.
For once, I let my son deal with the mess he’d created.
By the time they finished, it was nearly evening.
Daniel stood beside the front door.
“Mom, I really am sorry.”
“I hope so.”
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