Riley stood in the hall with the phone against her ear and listened to it ring.
The wind had picked up outside, pressing against the window glass in long, hard breaths. Somewhere below, the boys were arguing about whose turn it was to feed Fall, which was not even theirs to feed. Riley closed her eyes and told herself the sound was ordinary.
Two boys.
A dog.
A house with a storm coming in. She had turned their lives upside down so many times that ordinary had become something she had to fake.
Julie answered on the second ring.
"Riley." Her voice carried the faint echo of a tiled room and a fan turning somewhere behind her. Riley could picture her there, in the kitchen of the house that was thousands of miles away from the cold she was in now. "Thank you for ringing last week. Burnt cinnamon rolls and all. I should have said that before."
"You were fine, Jules." Riley tucked her feet under her. "How are you holding up?"
