“That’s my sister,” I said.
My voice sounded very far away.
“I thought it might be,” Opal said. “Scroll down.”
I scrolled down.
There was a photograph attached to the message.
It was my house. My house in Dublin, with the red front door and the maple tree in the backyard. The red door had faded to a dull pink. The grass was long and brown. There were dead leaves piled
against the porch steps.
And in the front yard, stuck in the dead grass, there was a sign.
FOR SALE.
Underneath the picture, there was one more line of text.
It looked like it had been sent by accident. Like Monica had meant to send it to somebody else and
sent it to Opal instead. There were no capital letters. It had the rushed look of a text you type while you’re doing something else.
before rebecca finds out what we did with the deed we need to get her out of ohio
