“I’d think so,” Mom said, leaning in and studying the photo. “They’re gorgeous. Like you, baby.” She turned back to me. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. But everything suddenly felt heavier.

Other photographs and artwork crowded the wall. A large painting of a black dog with yellow eyes hung in a silver frame. In a smaller painting, a man was shown lying under the ground as vines grew out of the soil above him, twisting into a strange-looking tree. Mom nudged me up the last few steps.

On the upper floor we found another smaller living room, and a laundry room with a washer and dryer. Mom almost cried at the sight of it. No more venturing into the stank-ass basement of our building to wash clothes. Finally, there were four huge bedrooms, all furnished with big four-poster beds and matching linens and pillows. Huge dressers and armoires sat against the walls, and each bedroom had its own bathroom. The thought of being able to complete my wash-day routine in peace made me deliriously happy. Back home, Mom always seemed to have a craving for ice cream right in the middle of my twist out, knowing she’s been lactose intolerant her entire life, and knowing we all had to share the single bathroom. Living out in the middle of nowhere might be worth the trouble if I could have my own bathroom.

Mo discovered a claw-foot tub in the bathroom of the largest bedroom, and she and Mom did a whole-ass praise dance to celebrate.

I wandered into the room next to theirs and flipped on the light switch. The bulbs buzzed on in an uneven pattern, slowly illuminating the room. Even when they’d reached peak brightness, it was too dark. I pulled the heavy navy blue curtains away from the windows, which sent a cloud of dust into the air. I took stock of the rest of the room.

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.