Jonah’s parent’s house is nothing extravagant: a two-floor Tudor with a castle-like tower in gray-black brick on its left side. There is no front porch. Instead, three ice-covered cement steps lead up to a wrought-iron door comprised of metal roses and thorns. It reminds Jonah of Game of Thrones; a gift from Jonah’s father to his wife on their fifteenth anniversary that he calls the Beauty and the Beast door. A tiny yard decorates the house with a picket fence topped in snow.
“Home sweet home,” Jonah says.
“So, this is where you grew up?”
“I did. The first eighteen years of my life. Then I went to Templeton College and gained a degree in business.”
Sandy peers at the house, tilts his head to the right, and asks, “How did five people sleep in such a small place?”
“We were like plague-i
