She slowly pirouetted and walked toward the doorway of the smaller adjoining room. “And the owners painted the study a vibrant yellow to complement the lovely morning light. It’s the perfect place to have your coffee and read the newspaper.”
Grace’s voice ricocheted around the unfurnished area. There hadn’t been time to fix everything up properly. “But that’s not a problem,” she said to her clients. “We can easily imagine how fabulous this place will look with your own special touches!”
Her clients didn’t respond. In fact, one toppled off the chair. “Drat,” Grace said, and rearranged the dolls to her liking.
“Good morning, Grace,” her father said, tapping at her door. “Are you playing real estate agent again?”
“Yes, just like when Mommy took me with her.” Grace went silent and rearranged the dolls again.
Her father waited quietly.
“Are we leaving the bomb shelter today, Daddy?” Grace checked her calendar. “It’s been two years, ten months, and eighteen days.”
“Not today, honey.” He turned away. “Maybe tomorrow.”