Dad?" she says. She is sixty-four. "Will you get in that closet by the door and …"
"What's that, Mom?" he says. He is instantly on his feet, poised to do her bidding. "What do you want me to do?"
He sees the look on her face and lowers himself back into his chair. He hates that look, although he sees it so often it has become his old, evil friend. It is a look of confusion, one of bewildered fear.