She was laughing into the camera, kneeling in the dark garden dirt next to six tiny purple lilac twigs we’d picked up for thirty-five dollars at the township agricultural supply store.

Emily ran her index finger along the bottom edge of the silver frame, her eyes on her mother’s face.

“Do you think we’ll ever have to leave Oak Creek, Dad?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“This is home.”

“Yesterday Trent said nobody on this block wanted us here,” she said, her words rushing together the way they always did when she was nervous.

“He said you were just some corporate desk guy and we were going to get kicked out.”