“Are you going to press the button?” Lily asked.

I opened the reply box, typed two spots for adults and two for children, and stared at the dark green send button.

I pressed send before I could change my mind.

By eight o’clock the next morning, I was kneeling on the cold concrete of the porch with a flathead screwdriver in my right hand.

Lily sat on the top step in her pajamas, kicking her heel against the wooden riser every three seconds while she held two spare brass screws in her palm.

“Why are we fixing it today?” Lily asked.