Julie fussed over eggs and pancake batter in the mixing bowls. Dad liked more chopped onions in his omelets; Mom less so.

The microwave clock read just after nine. Julie crossed the kitchen and called through the doorway, “Mom! Dad! Breakfast!”

No answer yet. She carried plates, glasses, and cups into the breakfast nook off the back of the kitchen. There was barely enough walking space to set three places at the table. Windows on three sides cast morning autumn colors inside.

She returned to the kitchen and poured the eggs and batter into separate skillets, then checked the full pot on the coffeemaker.

An old man appeared in the kitchen with a red plaid shirt and brown corduroys. “Morning, Dad!” Julie said to him. “Sleep well?”

He replied with a soft, silent smile.

“Cat got your tongue?” she asked him. “Do you know if Mom’s awake yet?”

No response.

She raised the volume of her voice. “Hey, Dad, is Mom awake yet?”

Dad kept his smile, as if she spoke to him in a foreign language.

Julie’s voice stayed slow and loud. “I’m making breakfast. Why don’t you go sit at the table?”

Dad paced in slow steps across the kitchen. The wall phone rang, and a digital voice announced, “Call from Karla Friedman.”

Julie ignored it and flipped the pancakes. The ringing continued as Dad stepped along toward his destination. Julie turned to the counter behind her and pulled out a jug of orange juice from the grocery bag.

The phone beeped, followed by a woman’s voice: “Julie, if you’re there, please pick up. Julie? Anyway, the Realtor’s on her way to the house. If you are there, I need you to cooperate with her.”

Julie slipped the finished pancakes onto a plate and poured more batter into the skillet.

“Julie, please answer.”

The caller waited, then hung up. Julie guided Dad into the nook and to his place at the table. “I know you like the morning sun at your back,” she said. “Sorry there’s no paper to read this morning. Don’t know why they didn’t deliver it.”

Once the old man was seated, Julie brought the coffee pot and filled his cup. “So, Karla wants me to cooperate,” she said to him. “Cooperate with a Realtor who wants to ship you and Mom to a retirement home and sell off this house. No, thank you.”

The old man stared at the steam from his cup, and Julie placed three colored pills beside his plate. “Anyway, here are your Monday meds, Dad. I’m going to check on Mom.”

Returning to the kitchen, Julie saw an elderly woman standing at the far doorway. She wore a black blouse with white orchids. Julie approached her with a kiss to the cheek. “I love your outfit, Mom. Are you ready for some breakfast?”

The old woman watched her with glazed eyes.

“Are you ready for breakfast?” she repeated at a higher volume. Still no reply.

Julie smirked and shook her head. “You’re as talkative as Dad this morning.” She guided Mom in puttering steps through the kitchen. “Karla claims that you and Dad can’t live independently anymore. But here you are, both dressing yourselves and coming down the stairs for breakfast.”

Leading Mom into the breakfast nook, Julie sat her next to Dad and poured her a glass of juice. She took their plates back to the kitchen and filled them with pancakes and omelets. Both parents wordlessly studied her motions as she placed their breakfasts before them. “Let me get the syrup,” she told them.

Back in the kitchen, she was startled by a woman entering from the dining room. The stranger was middle-aged with fluffed hair and a yellow realty jacket. “Um, hello, Julie,” the woman said with a lipstick grin. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

Julie clutched one arm with the other. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you ring the front doorbell?”

“I have a key.” The woman held it out. “I’m showing the house to someone at ten.”

“We’re not selling!”

The woman’s jaw stuttered. “I talked with your sister Karla about it this morning.”

“But you didn’t talk to me! Or to our parents!”

The Realtor’s eyes widened. “Your parents?”

“Yes, my parents! I know they don’t communicate much anymore, but they’re fine here with a little help from me. And I have just as much a say about where they live as Karla!”

The woman half-retreated through the doorway. “I’ll go speak again to your sister.”

Julie rounded the counter toward her. “You do that! Tell her and that agency of yours that Mom and Dad aren’t going anywhere!”

The realty lady turned and hurried back through the dining room. From there she crossed the vestibule and closed the front door behind her. Julie watched her yellow jacket fade away through the beveled glass.

Trembling, Julie walked to the refrigerator to look for syrup. It was empty save for a box of baking soda and a few bottles of water. She returned to the breakfast nook and said, “Sorry about the drama out there.”

Her parents both sat with passive smiles.

Julie sighed. “You two haven’t touched your breakfast. Do you need me to reheat anything? I’m afraid we’re out of syrup.”

The phone rang again. “Call from Karla Friedman.”

“Christ!” Julie whispered with closed eyes.

The ringing continued. Julie went into the kitchen to answer the phone. “What?”

“Listen, Julie, I just got off the phone with Myra.”

“Who?”

“The realtor!”

“We’re not selling! And that’s final!”

“It’s not your decision.”

“It’s what’s best for Mom and Dad.”

A pause settled in before Karla spoke up. “We’ve already gone over this a dozen times.”

“And we’ll go over it a dozen more! They’ re still okay to live here. You should see them this morning. They both dressed and came down for breakfast this morning. I made them their favorite …”

“Mom and Dad are gone, Julie.”

Julie clutched the receiver and tightly closed her eyes.

“Mom’s been gone for over four years,” said Karla. “Dad passed away last month. You know all this. Now, I spoke with Placid Grove, and they said you left the premises without permission early this morning. I figured you might’ve gone to Mom and Dad’s house.”

A single tear ran down along Julie’s cheekbone. “But … we’re having breakfast.”

“I’m going to come get you, Julie. Just stay there and be ready to go when I arrive. I don’t want to involve anyone else. Understand?”

The tears multiplied on Julie’s face.

Karla spoke in a louder voice. “Do you understand, Julie?”

“Yeah.”

“OK, see you in a little while.”

There was a click, and Julie hung up the receiver. She gazed across the kitchen She looked over at a photograph on the far wall. Mom was in her black blouse with orchids; Dad in his red plaid shirt. Both of them displayed frozen smiles.

Julie shuffled with a dead face to the breakfast nook. There sat two plates of omelets and pancakes before empty chairs. A strand of steam drifted from the untouched cup of coffee.

She dropped into a chair opposite the untouched food and buried her face in her hands.