The automatic doors slid open, and Edmund Voss walked in, silver haired and furious, with a television crew behind him and a camera light sweeping the aisles. Cordelia’s cart rolled back an inch. “Dad? You said you were in Boston.” He did not answer. Instead, he nodded toward the speakers, and the manager’s voice returned. “Mr. Voss, thank you for coming. As you can see, your daughter has bought every clearance turkey in my store.”

Edmund’s jaw tightened. He looked at the mountain of packages, then at the frail grandmother clutching her basket, and finally at the red labels. “Cordelia,” he said, very quietly, “how many turkeys did you buy last week?” The cameraman stopped filming mid sweep. Cordelia’s lips moved, but no words came out. Then Edmund pulled a folded receipt from his coat pocket, and her knees went weak.