I held the phone toward Kayla.
“We’re going to look at it.”
“I’m not moving there.”
“Then don’t. We’re still looking.”
She frowned.
“You can’t make me.”
“I’m not moving there.”
“You’re right.” I set the phone down. “But if you’re staying here while you figure out your next step, I need to see you taking one.”
Kayla stared at me.
Then she marched upstairs.
A door shut.
“You’re right.”
Andrew took a sip of coffee.
“Think that went well.”
I looked at him.
“Not one word.”
“Understood.”
***
Twenty minutes later, Kayla came downstairs in jeans and a sweatshirt.
She had also found the ugliest old robe in our linen closet and thrown it over one arm.
“Not one word.”
She dropped it onto a chair as she passed.
“Happy?”
I looked at it.
“Thrilled.”
The room for rent belonged to a woman named Renee.
She was about Kayla’s age and worked from home three days a week.
