Cayden didn’t have a jacket on. His thin, holey hoodie was soaked through on the shoulders, and his sneakers squeaked with water. He carried a black trash bag in one hand. His hood was up, his face shadowed. That dark oval turned toward me as I stood in the doorway, feeling like a kid in my oversized robe. “Lily, Cayden is going to be staying with us for a while,” Dad said and threw me a distracted smile, his gaze straying along the hall in the direction my mother had gone.
