Laura Fry stood at the edge of the driveway, looking at the two-story house she’d grown up in. Memories flashed through her mind quickly—like playing on the swing on the old oak tree in the back—bringing a smile to her face. Unfortunately, the swing was long gone. Then her eyes landed on the wheelchair ramp, and her smile vanished as quickly as it had come. With a sigh, she closed the door to her car, not even bothering to take anything with her. The car was packed to the gills with her stuff but…she could always change her mind. Couldn’t she?

“No, you can’t,” she murmured. Her sister would kill her.

She still couldn’t believe that Carla had talked her into this. Guilted her into it was more like it. Yeah, yeah…Carla was married. Carla had two kids. Carla had a real job. Laura? Not so much.

She took the steps to the front door instead of using the ramp. She noted the house was badly in need of a paint job. The flowerbeds were filled with weeds, not flowers. The yard needed to be mowed. She paused at the door, hand raised. Should she knock? Should she knock and wait or should she knock and go inside? Frankie wasn’t here, she reminded herself. No need to be hesitant about going inside. She took a deep breath, then tapped her knuckles three or four times on the door.

“It’s unlocked,” a voice called from inside. Her mother’s voice.

With another deep breath, she turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. Her mother was in the short entryway, waiting. Not using her walker, which Carla said she should be using. No, she was in the wheelchair. For effect. For sympathy. For guilt, maybe.

Well, this is getting off to a fine start.

“Hello, Mom,” she said dryly.

Her mother pursed her lips together. “Laura. I hardly recognized you. Have you gained weight again?”

Again? I’m going to kill Carla for making me do this!

But she forced a smile to her face. As much of one as she could muster, that is. “No, I haven’t. At least I don’t think so. My clothes still fit.”

“And what have you done to your hair? It’s certainly not flattering on you.”

Laura reached up, touching her now shorter locks. Dare she tell her she had a breakdown one day and cut it herself? No. As she’d told Thomas, she needed a change. It took him an hour to fix her mess. She liked it now. But she voiced none of that to her mother. Instead, she walked closer. “Are you having a bad day? Carla said you weren’t supposed to use the wheelchair. She said you could get around with the walker.”