It was August, so that was likely.

A large vase sat on an end table. Em’s gonna break that by the week’s end. Where to put it? There were no high shelves or bookcases in here.

“So,” I said, trying to make a good, fun memory of this. “A smoking granny with wet hair?”

“Yep, that’s exactly what I was going for,” Trevor said, winking at me. “I said to myself, what we really need is a dirty, moist grandma.”

I smacked him playfully with the back of my hand.

“Let’s name her Moldy Mildred,” he said, scooping Emily up for a hug and a tickle. She beamed at him. Being swept into Trevor’s creative, energetic mind was like being picked as the audience member who got to join the circus for a show.

“Mildred?” she giggled. “That’s not even a name.”

“Sure, it is,” he said. “That’s what we were gonna name you.”

“Really?” she said, mind blown.

He touched her nose with his. “No.” He laughed, spun her, and plopped her down.

Sawyer said, “You could stab someone in this room, drag the body out, and no one would notice.”

“Mommy, did someone get killed in here?” Em asked, slipping her hand into mine.

“No, Emmy. Sawyer’s only joking. Sawyer, please be more careful with your words.”

Sawyer rolled his eyes and left the room.

“I’m going to grab some stuff from the car,” Trevor said. “Sawyer, come help me.” Trevor, bless his heart, was trying to redirect.

I moved through the first-floor rooms, Emily holding my hand. The house was dark. Lots of wood paneling. The family room had no windows. The windows in the living room and dining room were small, like they’d been put in as an afterthought. The kitchen wasn’t bad. The cabinets and décor were fifty years old, oak, but the kitchen lighting was cheery, and a quaint chandelier hung above a cozy table. You’re stretching. To borrow Sawyer’s phrase, this place “sucks balls.”

In Trevor’s defense, there was not an abundance of houses to rent. People didn’t pass through Hunther; they were born here and died here.

During our drive, Trevor had explained Hunther’s layout. There was an apartment building on the south side of town, a screw factory and a trailer park to the east, a brushstroke of old mansions on the northern tip, a handful of dairy farms to the west, and sprinkles of businesses and houses all over town. Hunther had two cemeteries, two churches, and two high schools—Hunther North and South. Trevor went to North and played third base on their varsity baseball team. Go Bobcats.

I remembered so little about this place. When you’re six years old, you have minimal interest in anything beyond the layout of your house and yard.