If your clothes and your boxes aren’t off my lawn by five o’clock Sunday, I’m changing every lock on the outside doors and calling the sheriff to enforce a trespass notice.”

“You don’t have a legal eviction order,” I said.

“I don’t need one for a house registered in my primary name,” Mark said, his tone turning ice cold.

Vanessa opened the storm door an inch and held her phone up toward Mark.

“Mark, the kitchen contractor is on line two.”

“Tell him we’ll be there in five minutes,” Mark said without looking back at her.

He reached out with a sudden, jerky motion, snatched the three printed pages off the wicker table, and crumpled the edge of the second page in his tight fist.