Some shift in the light makes me look up. A shadow stands at the window of his study. His office looks down on where we spend our time.

Does he see what’s written on the rocks? Does he even care?

Fuck her education, he said, but I don’t think he meant it.

Right there, outside, using the Wi-Fi beaming from the house, because Lord knows there’s no signal up here on the cliff, I email the photos to the teacher with a note. I explain that due to her grief, this is the way she can express herself, and if they are concerned with concept understanding, she’s proven that in this form.

Now I understand how mama bears feel. I would fight off hunters for her. I didn’t even birth her from my body. I’ve only known her for six weeks, but I feel protective of her.

That evening after dinner I call Noah.

“This is a surprise,” he says above the sounds of a pot clattering. I can imagine him standing at the rusted cream-colored stove in his apartment, his roommates playing something on the Xbox in the living room. “Usually I’m the one calling you. And getting your voicemail.”

“I’m sorry.” Guilt churns my stomach. “I’ve been wrapped up in this job. There’s not really a clear boundary between work and personal time.”

That is the truth. I just finished doing the dishes and in a few minutes I have to help Paige with her bath time and then put her to bed. It’s rather like being someone’s actual mother. I suppose that’s why I do feel so close to her. And why the person doing this job needs to live here.

It’s the truth, but not the whole truth. That’s why I still feel guilty. The truth is I never quite know what to say to Noah. I love him like a brother, and I don’t want to disappoint him, but it feels like that’s inevitable. We want different things.

Movement and voices on the other end. Then the sound of a door shutting.

And quiet.

“I’m in my room,” he says. “The guys pooled their money for a game that just came out, and they’ve been playing nonstop. I went to my shift and came back, and they were still there. I don’t think they moved for ten hours.”

I give a snort-laugh.

That sounds like his roommates. One of them is as broke as Noah, working hard to pay the bills. The other two are going to college on their parents’ dime. Splitting the cheap rent in the old two-bedroom apartment instead of the more expensive dorm rooms is how they’re helping out.

It’s a totally different kind of existence.