I said. I stood facing the corner of the bathroom, mumbling into the phone, with the shower running in the background. “Everett’s where?” Daniel responded. Steam filled the room, the mirror coated with a fine layer of fog. “Here.” I looked over my shoulder. “In my bedroom. I called him about Dad, and he showed up yesterday to help. He is helping.” I could hear Laura in the background—something about paint fumes and pregnancy and open the damn window, which made me love her a little in that moment. “Okay, good. That’s good.” A pause, and I imagined him walking away from Laura. “What did you tell him?” I cracked the door, and the steam escaped into my bedroom, wisps curling up toward the vents. Everett was still sprawled facedown on the bed; I had my money on a hangover. I eased the door shut, walked across the tiny bathroom, out through the other door to Daniel’s old room.
