“Are we moving?”

“No.”

“Marisol’s mom said the army takes houses back from people who get written up.”

I set the apple in the bag and folded the paper over twice.

“The trouble left in August.

Marisol’s mom can call me, and I’ll explain it to her myself.”

The bus came around the corner with its brakes hissing, and my middle one went down the steps without the toast she had asked for.

My oldest still had not moved.