She carried the first box in herself, knees bent, chin up, the way someone carries who has done it plenty of times.

“Ledgers in this pile,” she said.

“Schedules in that one.

Nothing loose up front.”

We worked at the dining table with a roll of tape between us.

The house smelled of cardboard and of coffee I’d forgotten to dump out.

“Your mother been calling you lately?” Olivia asked, taping a seam.

“She calls every couple of days.”