CHAPTER TWELVE

They wandered inside. The house was as beautiful as Claire remembered. Martha was the first person they came across, and she almost dropped the tray carrying a glass of juice.

"Yes, it's me, Nanny. I'm not dead yet," Bruno said, and the old lady casted the tray aside on the console table, her eyes wet. "Oh, not the tearworks, please." He pulled for a warm hug.

Wow! What was happening? Claire was in the dark, standing at the corner. It seemed like they were dying to see Bruno, and yet he was so afraid to see them. What a mystery.

"Martha, when will I get that juice, woman? Is it arriving from America or something?" Mr. Steven's grumpy voice echoed, nearing them, and they all stayed attentive. "Can't you see this heat—" He was approaching slowly when his speech paused.

His gaze held Bruno's, stupefied.

"Grandpa," Bruno breathed, tears brimming in his eyes.

Claire's eyes shifted between the old man and his protégée grandson. Silence blanketed the atmosphere; a pin drop would make noise.