“Mom!” I yell into the nearly empty house, reading all the names on the boxes. Some have storage written on them, others Hank, then one says Northern Lights.
My shoulders fall. Chevelle is skipping from room to room, telling me how they’re all empty.
“Hank?” Mom comes from the kitchen and Chevelle runs up to her, hugging her. Chevelle is almost as tall as her grandma now.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
She looks at her foyer with the rounded staircase along the wall and the chandelier she’d always brag about because she found it at a flea market. “What?” She looks at me with a blank expression.
“The boxes!”
“Oh.” She pats Chevelle on her back and hugs Adam. “So tall.” She kisses his cheek. “I’m moving.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me this?”
“I was going to tell you.” She pushes Chevel
