We walked up two concrete steps to a front porch painted dark green.

Rachel unlocked the heavy wooden door and pushed it open.

The living room smelled like lemon furniture polish and old paperback books.

A small gray sofa sat on a braided rug in front of a bulky television.

“Your room is right down the hall,” Rachel said.

I followed her past a narrow galley kitchen to a closed door at the end of the hallway.

She pushed it open and stood back so I could walk in.