Sandra tried to negotiate on the staircase, holding the banister. “Surely I can keep my room for a week, Iris? I’m not party to any of this.”

“Your daughter’s cousin has a sectional sofa, Sandra. You have until nine.”

At the kitchen table, Derek signed the repayment agreement with a promotional pen from his bankrupt construction firm. I noticed the irony and said nothing.

Some debts collect themselves.

At 7:30 the locksmith knocked — a quiet man with a heavy drill. For the next hour I stood in the foyer listening to two sounds braided together: new deadbolts going in, and suitcase wheels grinding down my driveway.

At 8:52 Melissa came down for the last time hauling a trunk, hair wild, silk robe traded for sweatpants. She threw her keys at the console table hard enough to gouge the varnish, then stepped close to my face.