The front door stuck the way it always did in rain. Amelia shouldered it open with the same small grunt she used on grocery bags and Emma's scooter. The house breathed out the day's damp and the old lemon cleaner in the wood.
Nora's voice was still in her ear. “Did they give you anything?"
“Only rules," Amelia said, dropping her keys in the bowl. “Only 'next of kin' and 'privacy flags' and a guy named Marco who looked at me like I was asking him to reopen the sky."
“Do you want me to come over?"
“No." She toed off wet shoes. “I'm going to pack."
“Do you want me on the phone while you—"
“Yes," Amelia said, and her voice surprised her by not breaking. “Stay."
She walked down the hall.
The light in Emma's room was too cheerful. Sunflower decals the seven-year-old had stuck at unreacha
