At twenty past nine, a hard knock shook the wooden frame of the casita door.

I opened it two inches, leaving the heavy brass security chain fastened in its track.

Daniel stood on the concrete patio beneath the yellow bug light, his hands jammed deep in his trouser pockets.

“Open up the door, Mom,” Daniel said.

“I’m getting ready for bed, Daniel,” I said.

“We need those signature pages done right now,” he said, moving closer until his shadow blocked out the glow from the pool.

“If you can’t go along with our family schedule and our paperwork, Mom, we’ll have to rethink this whole arrangement.”