“How will we know when it's safe to go back to Florida? Do you have any idea how much longer we'll be here?"
I was standing at the sink, washing dishes, when Rafe spoke. It had been a week since his haircut, which I deemed a success since he wasn't complaining about it. We had come to a compromise about household chores: Rafe handled the cooking, and I did the dishes. We'd discovered after a few burnt meals that it was better for everyone this way.
“I don't know for sure. I have a way that I check in every once in a while to see if it's safe or not, if they want us to come back So far, nothing."
“How do you check in?" He frowned.
I scrubbed a plate with the wet cloth. “I text a question mark to the number she gave me and wait five minutes. When things calm down, she'll respond, but for
