It smelled like wet cardboard and laundry soap.
“Todd’s going to put up a wall here,” Michelle said, pointing. “So you’d have your own room. Your own space. And the bathroom’s just up the stairs.”
“Up the stairs,” I said.
“It’s only thirteen steps.”
I counted them myself going back up. She was right. Thirteen.
Sadie had followed us down. She’s four. She had on one sock and a princess nightgown at one o’clock in the afternoon. She stood on the bottom step with her thumb near her mouth. Not in it. Near it. She’s trying to quit.
“Grandma,” she said, “are you going to live in the under?”
“We’ll see, sweet pea.”
“There’s a spider in the under. Eli named him Kevin.”
“Well,” I said, “then I’d have company.”
Now, I know what some of you are thinking. My friend Brenda from church said it right to my face later.
