Dad slowly lowered the carving knife.
Vanessa stared at me.
“Your what?”
“My helicopters.”
Dad frowned.
“What kind of joke is this?”
“It isn’t.”
A faint mechanical thumping sounded somewhere beyond the neighborhood.
The helicopters were not coming to my parents’ house. Their property was nowhere near suitable for a landing.
But a few moments later, navigation lights appeared far off in the evening sky as the aircraft headed toward Bradley.
Mom left her chair and walked toward the window.
Vanessa pushed hers back.
“You own helicopters?”
“Six,” I said. “
