She faced him. “What are we going to do today?”

“Huh?”

“Mom put me in charge. Your ass is mine.” Before her brother could object, she raised a cautioning index finger. “You heard Mom. This is a big day for her. So we’re just going to chill out, take it easy, not get into any shit.”

Archie studied her for several seconds, weighing his response. Finally, and with feigned formality, he said, “I believe that is an excellent idea, Katie. I could not agree more.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Bullshit.”

“No, seriously,” he said. “You’re right. Let’s chill. I’ll text my friends, tell them I’m bailing. I even have a couple of ideas.”

She waited, still not convinced.

“Let’s do a Family Guy marathon,” he said, suddenly excited. “At least till lunch, and if we’re sick of them by then, we’ll watch a movie or something. All the DVDs are in a box in the garage.”

Katie had always liked the animated series, particularly Stewie, the evil genius baby, and Brian, the talking dog who wants to be a bestselling novelist.

Slowly, she said, “Maybe. But can’t we just get them off Netflix or something?”

Archie shook his head. “We’ve got the DVDs so we might as well use them. You go find them, and I’ll get the Coke and the Pringles and meet you in the basement in five.”

Neither of them raised the issue that maybe it was a little early in the day for soft drinks and chips. But then again, was it ever too early for junk?

“Okay,” Katie said warily. “You’re not messin’ with me, are you?”

Archie shrugged. “I’m cool if you don’t want to do it. We could work on that massive Lego Batmobile I’ve had in the box for two years.”

Katie hated Lego. She waited a beat, then said, “Okay. I’ll get the DVDs.”

She opened the sliding glass doors that led from the kitchen to a back patio. She crossed the yard to the separate garage building out back of the house. She entered by a regular side door and flipped up the nearby light switch.

The garage was more storage unit than a place to park a car. Not even a tiny Arrival would fit in here, not with all the piled-up cardboard boxes and bits and pieces of unwanted furniture. When Sandra had emptied out her father’s place in Braintree after he’d died six years ago, she’d saved his bedroom set, a kitchen table and chairs, even an old stereo console with an honest-to-god record player in it. She’d told Katie and Archie that one day, when they moved out and had a place of their own, they might not have money for furniture, and would be grateful for this stuff.