Nia laughed once, a dry sound. She took off the camel coat and laid it over the arm of the sofa with a care that felt absurd. Underneath, the cream blouse clung slightly to her back with the sweat of airports and dread.
"I'm going upstairs," she said. "I'm going to see my daughter's room. Then I'm going to look through this house. Then you are going to tell me the truth in an order that does not insult my intelligence. If Miss Langford needs to be here for the truth, she can sit on that chair and not speak until I ask her a question."
Simone's voice came from the foyer, level. "I'll sit."
Nia climbed the stairs. Her heels announced her on each tread. At the landing she paused and looked down. Marcus stood with one hand on the banister, head bowed. Simone sat on the edge of the console bench as if she had been told to wait for a verdict.
Amara's door was open. The room that had been pink and cluttered and alive was half-hollow. The bed remained, stripped to a fitted sheet. The dresser drawers were empty. Boxes labeled TOYS and CLOTHES and BOOKS sat along the wall. On the window seat, a stuffed elephant Nia recognized from Amara's infancy sat alone, as if assigned to guard what was left.
Amara sat cross-legged on the bare mattress with her tablet. She looked up and grinned.