No sound came from behind the door.
She sighed, then turned and cupped Harry's face in her hands.
"She's playing dead again. Throwing her little protest."
Dad was directing two delivery men as they hauled something into the living room.
They pried open the massive crate. Inside was an imported grand piano.
Walnut finish. Ninety-eight thousand dollars.
Harry shrieked and threw himself at the keys, hammering out a storm of ear-splitting noise that filled the entire apartment.
Mom crouched down beside him, her face melting with adoration as she wiped his hands.
"Gently, sweetheart. Don't hurt your fingers."
Dad was off to the side, tearing open another package. He pulled out a box of cough syrup and a rechargeable hand warmer.
The cheapest kind available. Ten bucks with free shipping.
"Put these by her door later."
He set them on the shoe rack without a second glance.
"If she's willing to sign and come out, she can have them."
Harry suddenly stopped playing. He tilted his head and stared at my bedroom door.
"Mommy, sissy's room doesn't even have any air getting in. Won't she get all cooked like a piece of meat?"
Mom peeled an orange segment and popped it into his mouth.