There were two narrow windows, a dresser and matching armoire, and a chest near the wall that held neatly folded blankets and sheets. A fireplace was set in the rear wall, and on the marble hearth were a dozen pots housing the remains of shriveled plants.

“Y’all look pitiful,” I said as I stirred the dirt with my fingers. They came back to life, greening up and sprouting a few new leaves. African violets, pastel pink geraniums, jasmine, and a half dozen others woke from their slumber. Lots of quiet plants, like the ones I kept in my own room back home.

I unlocked the windows and pushed them open. A warm breeze swept through the room and cleared out some of the stuffiness. I tried to see around the back of the house but couldn’t get a good view from my room. I went down the hall and peered through a window that overlooked the rear yard.

A large expanse of open grass with a few small outcroppings of trees butted up to a dense tree line. Beyond that was forest as far as I could see, with a few paths snaking into it. Something stirred in the pit of my stomach. I thought I noticed a subtle shift in the tilt of the trees. I quickly stepped away from the window.

A quick series of a half dozen sneezes cut through the air. I went back to Mom’s room to find her sneezing her face off as Mo shook out the curtains in their room.

“I’m gonna need Zyrtec,” Mom said. “Maybe a biohazard suit.”

I jumped onto the bed, sending a plume of dust into the air. Mom shrieked and pulled her T-shirt up over her face. “You tryna kill me?”

I carefully scooted off. Her allergies were a mess in the summertime and being out in the sticks was only going to make them worse.

“What are we gonna do with the extra bedrooms?” I asked.

“We can turn one into an office or something,” Mo said. “Make the other a guest room so your grandma can come visit.”

“She’ll love this place,” I said. Staying here for the summer—or maybe longer—was looking more and more like the right move.

“If we stay,” Mom added. “We haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“Just keep an open mind, babe,” said Mo.

“I’m trying,” Mom said, but there was a clear ring of worry in her tone.

“Let’s finish looking around,” I said.

I moved toward the door, but Mo knelt and looked up into the chimney of the fireplace. She reached in and pulled a short chain. The flue groaned as it opened, spilling a pile of rotted leaves and a dead bird into the hearth. Mom looked absolutely done.

“At least it’s clear,” said Mo. “We can put some logs in there, get a bearskin rug. It’ll be romantic.”

Mom rolled her eyes and shoved her hand down on her hip. “Nothing romantic about a roasted chicken in the fireplace.”