“And Rob?” Sarah asked, coming through the swinging door with her arms crossed over her chest.

“He’s in Florida,” Vanessa said.

“He sold his pickup and moved into a metal trailer outside Tampa.”

She looked at me, her eyes bloodshot and smeared with dark makeup.

“Just the couch in the basement,” she said.

“Only until eight in the morning so I can figure out where the city bus goes.”

I looked at her standing by the yellow laminate counter.

Ten years earlier, she had stood on that very spot in an expensive silk scarf, telling me seven kids were too many and that fixing broken chairs would never pay for the life she wanted.