I folded the white pages into four even squares and tucked them into my purse.

The casita door was unlocked when I came back through the side gate at four.

In the little bedroom, my blue cardboard storage box had been pulled out from under the bed.

The masking tape across the top had been peeled away, and my old Tucson tax returns lay scattered over the quilt.

I walked into the main house kitchen with my purse on my shoulder.

Renee was standing at the island, going through a stack of plastic mail sorters with a black pen.