She came into my kitchen while the coffee was still brewing and announced that her two friends were moving in that day, rent free, obviously. My son stood by the refrigerator studying the tile. When I asked where they would sleep, Brynn explained with great patience that they needed the larger room, that mine made the most sense because of the private bathroom, and that I barely used it during the day anyway. The couch, she said, was really comfortable. I asked Grayson whether he agreed and he told the floor it was temporary. Then she said family helps people, and I thought about two years of my pension covering their utilities and my pantry feeding them both. I said all right. She went to brunch to celebrate.

I called a locksmith. When the dispatcher asked whether I had lost my keys, I told him I had finally found them. Then I called movers, and Ambrose drilled out every exterior deadbolt while three men wrapped perfume bottles and boxed shoes in pairs and listed everything across five pages. Nothing broken, nothing on the lawn. A climate controlled unit four miles away, paid three months forward, and the key and the inventory taped to my front door glass at eye level. Then I washed the floors with pine soap and opened the windows.