Harper followed me as far as the kitchen doorway.

She leaned on the door frame, watching me bend to pick up the box.

“Don’t leave your shoes in the hall,” Harper said.

“Julian nearly tripped over them last night.”

“They’re in the closet,” I said.

Martha came up behind Harper with a clean dish towel in both hands.

“Be sure you stack your boxes neatly against the far wall, Eleanor.”

“The middle bay has to stay clear,” Martha added, her voice smooth and deliberate.