“Why do you need a house?” he demanded, on the day she got the keys, standing in the empty front room with his arms crossed.

He was eight by then and had opinions about everything.

“Because it’s mine, sweetheart.”

“You could just live at our house.

There’s eleven rooms.”

“There are eleven rooms and they’re all your father’s.”

Behind her, Harrison said, “That is more or less the argument I’ve been making for four months, and I’d like the record to show she isn’t listening to me either.”

Maya turned around.