She had printed the reservation number twice, once at the top of the list and once near the bottom, as if the paper might forget.

I poured my coffee and watched the October light move across her clean counter.

I had left Linden Court on Friday with an overnight bag, glad to be away from the smell of fresh paint for one weekend.

The house had new locks, new floors, and no furniture except a folding chair and the pizza box I had never thrown away.

Then the phone on the counter let out one chime.