But no. Her old room looked the same. Same bedspread, that’s for sure. That would be the first thing to go. She tossed her bags on the bed, covering some of the hideous roses. She went back out into the hallway and peeked into her sister’s old room. It, too, looked the same. The bathroom between the two rooms was different, though. New tile. New fixtures. She stood in the hallway and surveyed the upstairs. Yes, this might just work. She’d have the second floor to herself. Her parents’ bedroom—now her mother’s—had always been downstairs. Now that her mother could no longer manage the stairs, she’d at least have some privacy up here. Perhaps she could turn her sister’s room into her writing room.

She went back into her own room, pulling open drawers. Everything was completely empty, including the closet. That seemed odd to her. Surely she hadn’t taken everything when she’d left. She pushed apart the drapes that covered the large back window, hoping to get a view of the woods she’d loved as a kid. She frowned. The once familiar view of trees—woods—was gone. A house was there instead. A huge house. A house with a pool, which she could just see a corner of. A tall privacy fence separated her mother’s property from next door. When had that gone up? She’d been so dreading her move here, she hadn’t even noticed it earlier.

But who the hell had bought the woods? Who would tear down those beautiful trees and put in a house and pool?

She hurried back down the stairs, finding her mother in the kitchen, attempting to reach the microwave. A frozen Weight Watchers dinner was on the counter.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“Mom…I’m supposed to cook, remember?”

“Yes, well, Frankie’s been gone six days. How do you think I’ve managed thus far?”

She took the dinner and tossed it back into the freezer but not before she spotted the six or eight additional dinners that were in there.

“You’ve been shopping?”

“I haven’t left the house. Carla got those for me.”

Laura put her hands on her hips. “I know you can get around with the walker, Mom. Why the chair? Or is it just for my benefit?”

“I don’t know what you mean. The walker is difficult. Slow.”

“At least you’re on your feet.” She bent down to eye level. “The doctor said the more you walk, the stronger you’ll become.”

“How would you know what the doctor said?”

“I did come to the hospital,” she reminded her.

Her mother waved her hand in the air. “That was three years ago. That doctor didn’t know what he was talking about. Why, if not for Frankie, I’d practically be an invalid.”