Then my father said, almost casually, “While you’re helping me pack, could you also pack some of your stuff? I’ve been thinking of renovating your room.”
Janet replied, “Of course! We’ll move our stuff into storage.
Bob nodded. “Yeah, let’s get this over with.”
As they rushed around, taping boxes and labeling shelves, my father stood back and watched. He said little, but his mind was steady.
He saw the way Bob measured the hallway like he already owned it. He noticed Janet humming as she folded his sweaters and stacked his books like they were junk to be cleared. Inside, my father felt no anger — just calm.
He thought about how easily they had shown their true selves. How quickly they forgot they were guests. But most of all, he felt certain.
Certain that they needed to learn a lesson. And they would. Soon.
Two mornings later, the doorbell rang. A large moving truck was parked outside. Two uniformed men stepped up.
Bob was the one who opened the door. He looked confused at first, staring at the men in matching jackets as his expression slowly shifted from curiosity to alarm. One of them said, “Pickup for Bob and Janet.
Cedar Hills Assisted Living. Two residents. Boxes already logged.”
“WHAT? That’s not us! We didn’t order anything!”
The mover didn’t blink.Continue reading…
