Trevor let out a soft, patient laugh that sounded perfectly at ease.

“She’s being dramatic, Val.

She stepped out on the back porch for two seconds because I told her she couldn’t have her tablet until she cleaned her room.

She’s sitting on her bed right now with her stuffed bear.”

“I heard the wind over her phone,” I said.

“It’s twenty-two degrees in Dublin tonight, and she didn’t have her winter coat on.”

“She’s in her room,” he said again, his voice slipping into that extra-smooth rhythm he used whenever a conversation about money hit a wall.