Kayla stared at me.
Then she marched upstairs.
A door shut.
“You’re right.”
Andrew took a sip of coffee.
“Think that went well.”
I looked at him.
“Not one word.”
“Understood.”
Twenty minutes later, Kayla came downstairs in jeans and a sweatshirt.
She had also found the ugliest old robe in our linen closet and thrown it over one arm.
“Not one word.”
She dropped it onto a chair as she passed.
“Happy?”
I looked at it.
“Thrilled.”
The room for rent belonged to a woman named Renee.
She was about Kayla’s age and worked from home three days a week.
She was about Kayla’s age.
The house was small but clean.
Kayla inspected the bedroom twice.
The second time, she opened the closet and stood there longer than necessary.
Renee showed us the kitchen.
Kayla inspected the bedroom twice.
“I don’t care if you cook late,” she said. “Just clean up afterward. Quiet after 11 during the week. We split paper products.”
