“Why don’t we all go in the living room?” Dan suggests, because Ginger doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. She keeps smoothing down her sweater.

“I’d like to see Lou’s room first,” Melissa says, all business, like Maria. Ginger points up the stairs, and we all take our places to follow Melissa like kids. She sticks her head in the blue room. “Nice digs.” And then she spots the guitar on the bed and asks, “You play?”

“A little. It’s my mom’s.”

“Well, you’re in the right place if you want to learn. This is the music capital of the world.”

She turns to Ginger and Dan and says without a pause, “No kids, Mr. and Mrs. Latimer?”

“What? Oh, no. Not yet.” Ginger puts a hand to her ponytail. “We thought we’d enjoy married life a bit first. I mean, not that kids aren’t wonderful…” She trails off and looks horrified that she just implied she didn’t want kids running around her nice house. She’s got nothing to worry about. I don’t want to be here either. But the thought that I’m in the way pinches a little.

Melissa raises her eyebrows but carries on. “Right, well, let’s go back downstairs and have a chat.” We follow her and sit on the brown leather couches around the empty fireplace.

“When can I see my mom?” I haven’t asked the question in more than twelve hours. It feels like if I don’t, she’ll start to fade away. I need someone to tell me something that matters.

Melissa looks up from where she’s laying out several folders on the coffee table and smiles. “I guess we’ll get to it, then.”

She folds her hands in her lap and leans back. “This is just an initial home inspection, to make sure you’re comfortable and have everything you need. Now…” She pauses and gives me one of those up-and-down looks. “You want me to shoot you straight?” I nod. Ginger and Dan scoot closer together on the couch, making it squeak. “Your mom is currently under investigation for child neglect.” I start to open my mouth. Melissa presses on. “I know. I know. It was a complicated situation. You were parked at a campsite. She couldn’t get to and from work without transportation. And she needed to work to keep you fed. But she should never have relied on a minor to pick her up in the middle of the night, especially in those conditions. And you should have been in school instead of singing on street corners.”

Laid out like that, it sounds worse than when Maria said it. I feel my head getting lighter and lighter, like it might just float away. I wish it would. I reach back and tug at the ends of my hair just once, hard, to keep myself from crying.