“They can’t penalize me,” my mother whispered.

“I’m a grandmother protecting her family.”

“The compliance record is officially closed, Mom,” I said.

“And the district mailed a certified copy straight to your civil attorney.”

My mother let the envelope fall against her skirt and pressed her hands flat against her thighs.

“Come inside,” she said, her voice sinking into a low, tight monotone.

“Don’t stand out on my porch.”

I stepped over the brass threshold into the front hall where Lucy’s little winter boots had stood four weeks earlier.