Letty rolled her eyes. “Sure. I’m gonna plant a palm tree in it.”

“Okay, well, then you don’t need me.”

“Actually, I was just trying to figure out what to do with it,” she admitted.

“That asshole Chuck,” Joe said. He went outside and came back with a heavy-duty furniture dolly. “I told her he was a bum, but she’s always had a soft heart for a stray.”

“Your mom?”

“Who else?” He wheeled the dolly over to the washing machine. “Okay. I’m gonna stick the lip of this under the washer, and you’re gonna push it forward—carefully, until it tilts backward. Like a lever. Got that?”

“I think I can manage.”

Maya was watching the grown-ups with interest, her thumb in her mouth. Letty reached over and gently pushed the thumb aside. “You sit on the bed now and try to stay out of the way. Can you do that, ladybug?”

Maya nodded and returned the thumb to her mouth.

Joe wrapped a webbed belt around the washer and fastened it to the dolly’s handles.

“Go,” he said.

Letty placed both hands on the machine, closed her eyes, and leaned hard into it. Seconds later, she heard a loud thud.

“Owwww,” Joe howled.

She opened her eyes. The belt had snapped in two and the washing machine seemed to have landed on his foot.

He somehow managed to shove it aside, and dropped onto the floor, cradling his bare right foot in both hands, rocking back and forth, his face contorted—either with pain or anger, she wasn’t sure which.

“Goddamn,” he cried, glaring at Letty. “I think my toe is broken.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Let me see it.”

He scooted backward, away from her. “No way.”

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” she protested. “Just let me look. Which toe is it?”

“None of your business,” he snapped. He picked up a gnarly-looking rubber flip-flop, slid it gingerly onto his injured foot, stood up, and leaned against the offending washer. “Christ, it hurts.”

“Well, I said I’m sorry. But shouldn’t you have been wearing real shoes? I mean, who tries to do heavy lifting wearing flip-flops?”

“A guy who just got off work after an eight-hour shift,” he said. “A guy who was minding his own business and drinking a cold beer until his mom guilt-tripped him into helping out her newest guest.”

Letty felt her cheeks burn with a mixture of anger and her own guilt. “I said I was sorry. If you’ll let me look at it, I’ll go get some ice and try to help you wrap it up.”

“Forget it,” he muttered, “I’ll live.” He turned back to the washing machine, examining the mover’s dolly. “That asshole Chuck. Shoulda known he’d let this thing get dry rot. Even the tires are shot.”

“What now?” Letty asked.