At eight the next morning, the kitchen was quiet once the children had gone off to the school bus.

Renee stood at the coffee maker, spooning dark grounds into a brown paper filter with a silver spoon.

She didn’t turn around when I came down the two tile steps from the hall.

“There’s fresh grapefruit in the wooden bowl,” she said.

“Thanks, Renee,” I said.

She reached into her canvas work tote and took out three folded glossy booklets.

She laid them on the counter right beside my coffee mug.