“Thanks, Wayne,” Claire said.

Wayne headed off toward the supervisor’s station, leaving her alone in the quiet, glowing room.

Claire reached out with her right hand and rested her palm on top of her brass desk clock as the steady second hand ticked on.

The yellow moving van sat half up on the curb with its back doors open, and two men in gray caps shuffled a couch slowly down the ramp.

María López stood on the sidewalk with her hands in her jacket pockets, looking at the house.