“Move your trash off the floor,” Chloe said, scrolling with her right hand while her left fingers twisted her handbag strap.

Toby laid his paintbrush on the rim of the glass jar and held his breath as he stared at the shredded blue paper around her boot.

“Why did you crush my drawing?” Toby asked, his voice direct and quiet.

“Because you put it where I walk,” Chloe said, stepping over the torn pieces without looking at him.

I got up from my dining chair and stepped into the narrow space between the table and the window nook.

I picked up the two torn halves of Toby’s bridge drawing from the floor and set them on the mahogany side table next to the silver serving tray.