Possessions by Judith Michael Page B

why—”
    â€œWait. Wait a minute, both of you.” Katherine shook her head. Where did they get such ideas? She leaned forward and held them, feeling guilty for the hurt in their eyes. They needed to believe the world was an orderly place where everything had a reason, but she had no reasons to give them. “Listen to me. You had nothing to do with Daddy’s leaving. It’s complicated, but you’re not to blame. He loves you.”
    Jennifer shook her head disconsolately. “What else could it be?”
    Todd frowned. “Maybe he’s hiding, to test us. And we haveto find him. Like the prince in that story who had to climb a hundred mountains and pick a special flower and kill a witch and slay a dragon before he could be king. Or something.”
    â€œThat’s dumb,” Jennifer said, but softly, because Todd was trying to make her feel better. She said to Katherine, “If it wasn’t us, was it because of what Mr. Doerner said that day?”
    â€œNo!” Todd shouted.
    â€œIt might be,” Katherine said carefully. “Nobody knows the whole story, though. We can’t make any judgments yet.”
    â€œBut if he was mad at us,” said Jennifer, “and found a family he liked better, and they didn’t do anything to get him mad—”
    â€œThat’s enough!” Katherine’s control began to slip. “He wasn’t mad at you; he didn’t find another family. He’ll tell you that himself, when he gets back.” She hurried them through breakfast, and out of the house, to catch the bus for camp. And before she could begin to brood about whether she had handled them properly or not, she called the realtor and made an appointment for that afternoon.
    He greeted her at her front door with the energy of an inquisitive terrier. “Mrs. Fraser, good afternoon, kind of you to think of us. Let’s see what we have here, shall we?”
    Clipboard in hand, he moved through the house, talking to himself as he took swift inventory and made notes. “Good views, good light; oh, very pleasant kitchen. This door goes to—? Ah, garage, yes, a bit messy, but the youngsters can take care of that and also—um, basement, dear, dear, we need a good bit of straightening here, too, otherwise can’t see the—ah, water heater. The whole house—you’ll forgive my frankness—could use a thorough cleaning. Of course you’ve had other things on your mind, if one can believe the newspapers, but you do want it to look its spanking cheerful best—purchasers pay more for a happy house than a sad one. Get your youngsters to clean up the garage and basement; it’s good for them; help Mother sell the place, don’t you know.”
    Katherine watched the realtor sniff about the rooms, indifferent and unsparing, enumerating their faults, ignoring the love and laughter they had held. Once the house had been a refuge; now she was handing it over to be invaded and scrutinized by strangers and bought by someone who would notknow or care about the lives that had been lived within its walls.
    I don’t want to sell it; I don’t want to leave. She followed him back to the living room. Why couldn’t it wait? A week; maybe two; maybe a month. . . . And lose it all, she thought. Because I can’t keep up the payments. Clenching her hands, she thrust them into the pockets of her skirt. “I was wondering about the price. And how quickly you can sell it.”
    â€œWell now, difficult to say. The market is bad; bad all over; we’re all hurting. Now I’m aware that you need to sell—you have my sincere sympathies, by the way; an awkward time for you—what is it? What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
    Between laughing and crying, Katherine began to cough. Awkward, she thought. It is certainly awkward to be deserted. Catching her breath, she said, “I thought two hundred twenty