Marcus cleared his throat. The sound was small in the tall space of the entryway. He glanced at the woman with the boxes, then at Amara, then at Nia, as if the order of looking could rearrange the facts into something softer.
"Amara," he said again, quieter. "Please. Upstairs. Take your tablet. Mom and I need to talk."
Amara's face pinched. She looked at the stranger, then at her mother, then at the boxes as if one of them might explain what the adults would not. Nia kissed her temple and stood, the heels making her taller than the moment wanted her to be.
"Go on, baby," Nia said. Her voice surprised her with its steadiness. "I'll come up in a little while. I want to see your room."
Amara hesitated, then climbed the stairs two at a time, socks flashing. At the landing she paused and called down, "Miss Simone said I could paint my new walls yellow," before disappearing down the hall.
Miss Simone.