Georgie hated her relatives. She stared out the bedroom window watching them arrive. It was easy to see everyone since there were no leaves on the trees. Wet and slick they covered the walkway instead. Uncle Tony was first in his sleek black car. The one he talked about all the time that made Mom roll her eyes. He’d scurried out and started for the sidewalk, but when another car rolled up the long driveway, he changed his gait to an exaggerated limp. The small silver car was Uncle Dave’s. He slowed down and shouted something at Uncle Tony. They started shouting at each other until Aunt Kim pulled up in her red sports car. One look from her, and shut up. Uncle Tony forgot to limp on his first step towards the house.

The doorbell chimed, but Georgie didn’t budge. She didn’t want to go pretend to be happy with the guests. None of them wanted her, and the feeling was mutual. They hadn’t known she was hiding behind a curtain at the funeral parlor while they all argued over who she’d have to live with. They’d bartered over who’d get Mom’s house and cars and money until someone cleared their throat. Georgie’d give it all to them if it meant Mom was still alive.

A battered car chugged up the driveway, exhaust clouding the air. Its frazzled occupant scrambled out, staring at her. Georgie gasped, wanting to laugh and cry.

“Dad!”

He’d gotten her letter, and come home. 

word: mutual | action: spy