Chloe came up the steps after him more slowly, holding a hardcover library book to her chest.

“Dad brought us early because Mom had an inventory shift at the hospital,” Chloe said.

She set her purple tote bag beside the door frame and looked down the long hall toward the yellow kitchen walls.

“Did you get the mesquite sign from the garage in Scottsdale?” she asked.

I pointed to the two black iron hooks set into the timber beam over the porch swing.

“It was hung yesterday morning,” I told her.