She zipped the plastic bag shut, the sound sharp in the quiet lot.

“We will have a unit circle your block,” she said.

I sat in the driver’s seat and stared at the grey steering wheel.

The metal of the key ring felt heavy in my pocket, five brass keys clinking against each other.

I waited for Sloan to walk back inside before I reached for the ignition.

My kitchen smelled of cardboard and hot tea when Julie let herself in with her spare key.

She set a roll of brown packing tape and a black marker on the counter.