Nicolas got out of his car and looked up at the building that was his childhood home. It had mossy dark stones making up the walls and white trimming on all the full-length French windows. He looked up at them as he walked to the building. He thought he saw movement through one of the windows but he kept on walking even as he wondered if it was one of his sisters or his mother.
Maybe it was the housekeeper or one of the maids. He was not blind to the way they tittered in corners when they thought they were far enough away for him to not hear. He'd also heard his mother complain about how his presence affected their attentiveness, lifted hemlines, and lowered necklines.
As he got closer to the door, he decided that it was not his mother. He could see her through the glass door as she walked towards it. There was a tight smile on her face. She let him open the door and then hugged him as he walked through.
"Hello, Mother," he said into her hair.
