Chloe went to the end of the swing, ran her thumb over the carved letters, and let out a soft breath.

“It smells like oranges out here,” she said.

Caleb was already on his knees by the low brick foundation, jabbing a dry twig into the dark gap by the water meter.

“Do we have to go back to Scottsdale Sunday at five?” he asked without looking up.

“Five o’clock on the dot,” I said.

“That was the paper we all signed.”

Chloe put her book on the side table and slid her hand along the white railing.