She folded her arms over her chest and tapped her right shoe on the floorboards four quick times.

“You’re twenty-two, Mark,” she said, her voice going flat and cold.

“You can keep an eye on things around here.”

“Sarah’s coming over at five,” Mark said to her back.

Vanessa didn’t answer him.

She carried the winter coats into the kitchen, her heels clicking sharply on the worn linoleum.

I stepped past Mark and followed her in, stopping beside the dry sink where the old radio sat.

The loud hum of the refrigerator filled the silence between us.