Seven years later
Arlo looked around the red farmhouse cottage. It wasn’t big, but crossing the small rooms was enough to make him want to cry—he wouldn’t, of course. No use in crying over things that hadn’t happened yet, but it saddened him to know he’d have to leave it soon.
The floorboards creaked under his feet as he walked through the kitchen and into the living room. The low ceiling had him dipping his head when going through doorways, being five-foot-six it wasn’t something he was used to. He probably could walk through without hitting his head on the door frame, but someone taller wouldn’t be able to. The owner had made an apologetic comment about it when Arlo came to look at the house, but it didn’t bother him.
Since he’d left Mama in the hospital, he’d lived in a lot of seedy
