“Yep,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “How old is she?” “Eleven.” Nodding, I shoved the pillow at him and marched back into the room. “So, Waylay,” I began. There was a family resemblance in the upturned nose, the dimple in the chin. She had the same colt-like legs her mother and I had at that age. “So, Aunt Naomi.” “Did your mom say when she’d be back?” “Nope.” “Where do you and your mom live, honey?” I asked. Maybe Tina was there now, going through her haul, figuring out what was worth keeping and what she wanted to ruin just for the fun of it. “Over in Hillside Acres,” she answered, looking
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