I walked down the three stone steps, picked up the canvas bag from the wet gravel, and settled the strap against my left shoulder.

“You have nowhere to go,” Chloe called down, dragging out the ends of her words as her nails kept tapping her screen.

“No house, no money, and no family left.”

Headlights cut through the dark trees at the bend of the driveway, throwing two long beams across the wet lawn.

A navy sedan stopped behind my 1998 Ford truck, and Mrs.

Gable stepped out of the passenger door holding a wrapped bottle of wine for Victoria’s dinner party.