I pulled up Lauren’s contact card and hit the text icon.

My fingers felt stiff against the glass.

Send me every text your dad sent you about the house, I wrote.

From the beginning.

A single minute passed in the quiet car.

The grocery store’s automatic doors slid open and shut as shoppers carried brown paper bags to their trunks.

My phone buzzed in my lap.

Then it buzzed three more times in quick succession.