“After school I heard Mom and Dad talking in the pantry,” Chloe said.

“They’ve got a lot of work things to sort out,” I said.

“Dad told Mom he’s bringing in contract painters next month,” she said, her voice sinking to a whisper.

“He said they’re going to haul the casita bed out so he can use the room for his real estate office.”

“He said that?”

“He said all your stuff would fit in one of those little rooms at the place down on Shea Boulevard,” Chloe said.

She lifted her eyes to mine, her brown gaze steady in the dim light of the garage.