“You have the Sterling nose,” Arthur said, his eyes scanning Leo’s face before darting up to meet mine. “And your father’s stubborn chin.”
“Yes, sir,” Leo whispered.
“We just wanted you here where you belong, Elena,” Martha said from behind me, her voice trembling.
I stood by the edge of the hearth, the heat of the fire pressing against my wool slacks. On Monday, Martha had cried into the phone, telling me Arthur had less than forty-eight hours left. Now, he sat before me, his eyes bright and alert under his gray brows, his breathing deep and regular.
“The journey was long,” I said, my voice short and direct. “The bus was delayed in Lowell.”
“The bus,” Arthur said, his tone dry. “You should have let Raymond send a car.”
“We did fine on our own,” I said.
Raymond stepped closer to the armchair, his hand resting on the carved wooden mantle. “The boy looks exhausted, Mother. Perhaps you could take him up to the blue room?”
“Of course,” Martha said, her hands moving back to her apron. “I have the sheets turned down.”
