Brandon grabbed the strap of the green duffel bag, his knuckles turning white under the heavy canvas strap.
I followed him to the front door, Lila still heavy on my shoulder, while Ivy’s cries continued from the kitchen behind us.
Through the glass of the front door, I could see the headlights of a large black pickup truck idling in the dark. Theo sat in the driver seat, his face illuminated by the green glow of the dashboard light.
Brandon opened the door, letting in the cool November air that smelled of dry grass and asphalt.
Theo leaned out of the truck window as we stepped onto the concrete porch. He adjusted his baseball cap, pulling the brim low over his forehead as he looked at us.
“Hey, Amy,” Theo called out, his voice sounding casual and apologetic. “Sorry about the rush, but we want to beat the traffic on seventy-five before the construction starts.”
“He is not going,” I said, looking straight at Theo.
