The kitchen light was on when I came in through the back door of the lake house at nine o’clock.

Chloe was leaning against the marble island in her silk lounge pants, her long pink nails tapping a fast, uneven beat on her phone screen.

“Mom’s upstairs in her bedroom,” Chloe said without looking up from the screen.

“She said you were off playing soldier down at the yard.”

I set my canvas duffel bag on the corner bench and took out the printed payment confirmation from the county tax collector.

Chloe stopped tapping, her hand hovering over her phone as her eyes darted to the white paper in my hand.