“What if I send everyone else downstairs?” I suggested. “It’ll just be you and me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

Beth opened her mouth, likely to chide her daughter for being rude, but I gave her a silent shake of my head.

“That’s fine,” I said. “But I want to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“Your mom told me a lot about you. I want to hear more.”

I jerked my head, and they went to keep packing, leaving me to talk with Maisie.

And hopefully not fuck it up.

I had no damn clue how to talk to a kid, but I followed Mac’s advice.

I tried asking Maisie a few questions but got nowhere. Switching tactics, I started talking.

I told her about my bike. Places I’d been. Crazy tourist attractions I’d seen on the side of the road.

In response, I got nothing.

I thought I’d have to pivot again, but when I started telling her about Dumpster, she spoke.

“That’s not a nice name.”

I wasn’t about to tell her the origin, so instead, I said, “Time for a name change then. Any suggestions?”

“What’s she look like? I can’t name her if I don’t know.”

Schooling my voice into the nonchalant one Mac told me to use, I said, “If you let me come in, I can show you pictures.”

Maisie didn’t speak. Didn’t move. I wasn’t sure she was still near the door.

I was about to back down when metal rattled like she was undoing a lock—though Beth had said there wasn’t one. The door cracked, and a little eye pressed against the space. I didn’t shove my way in or even move closer.

I let her take her time sizing me up.

The door opened just enough for a cute kid with a bow in her long brown hair to squeeze her head out. “Everyone is gone.”

“Told you I’d send them away.”

“Yeah, but adults lie all the time.”

“They lie to you?”

She raised a shoulder.

“I don’t lie, kid, so if I say something, I mean it.”

Her eyes narrowed. Then she took a few steps away from the open doorway.

My invitation.

Once I was inside, she closed us in before moving to the opposite side of the room. Beth said she was eight, but she looked younger. Almost younger than Anna. She was too thin, and her face was pale, like a porcelain doll.

She pointed toward my phone. “The pictures.”

I brought up my multitude of photos of Dumpster.

Inching closer, Maisie gestured every time she wanted me to swipe to the next one. “Hmm.”