Seven Checks Left Untouched in a Cedar Desk Drawer

She moved her cart toward the bakery counter, her boots squeaking on the linoleum.

I stood by the dairy case for a long minute, the hum of the compressors filling the quiet space around me.

My father had not mentioned guardianship to me, nor had my mother, during any of our Sunday dinners.

I drove back to my parents’ house, the dark of the autumn evening settling over the lawns before six o’clock.

I walked into the living room without knocking, the latch clicking loudly in the quiet house.

Arthur sat in his leather wingback chair, his gold-rimmed reading glasses sliding down his nose as he looked up from his legal pad.

My mother was standing by the sideboard, adjusting a vase of dried hydrangeas.

“Why are you filing for guardianship of Rosie behind my back?” I asked, my voice carrying more weight than I expected.

Arthur did not move, his palms pressed flat against his thighs as he stared at me over his glasses.

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