When Margaret Walsh returns home on Thanksgiving Day, she doesn’t find her family — but instead, a complete stranger sitting in her living room: Arthur Caldwell, an 87-year-old retired theater professor and her daughter-in-law’s stepfather. A cold note explains that everyone has gone on a last-minute cruise, leaving the two “difficult” seniors to take care of each other. I suppose I should have known something was wrong the minute I turned onto Maple Street.
Mrs. Henderson’s tabby cat, the one that normally sprawled across my front porch like he owned the place, was conspicuously absent. The row of cars that should have lined my driveway for our annual Thanksgiving gathering were nowhere to be seen.
Even the porch light I always left on when expecting visitors remained dark against the November twilight. Still, exhaustion from my 3-day meditation retreat had dulled my usual sharp instincts. When I’d reluctantly agreed to Sister Catherine’s invitation to the silent retreat at St.
Mary’s Retreat Center, I’d made it clear to my son Robert that I’d be home by 4:00 on Thanksgiving Day. Plenty of time to finish preparations for the family dinner at 6:00. The house would be empty until then, he’d assured me, as everyone was arriving together from the airport.
Perfect timing, or so I’d thought. I pulled into my driveway at precisely 3:55 p.m., noting with satisfaction that punctuality remained one of my stronger virtues at 72. The quiet neighborhood, with its leaf strewn lawns and smoke curling from chimneys, embodied everything I loved about New England in late autumn.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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