Daniel looked down at his leather shoes, then up at the mesquite sign hanging from the heavy iron hooks over his head.

“Can the kids still come over?” Daniel asked, his voice hardly louder than the dry wind in the sycamores.

“Chloe and Caleb will be here every other weekend,” I said.

“Arthur Vance has already set up trust accounts for their college costs.

That money is entirely out of your reach.”

Daniel lingered on the top step a moment longer, his hand on the white railing, while Renee walked down the brick path to the car without looking back.

He drew the copy of the county deed out of his jacket pocket, unfolded it, and read the buyer line once more under the bright morning sky.