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Dresser straight.

Toys arranged along the wall.

Little clothes hanging in the closet.

My son had a room in my house.

I stood there longer than I meant to, looking at the bed he would be sleeping in that night.

Then one of the cleaners came in and picked up a monster truck from the dresser.

Where you taking that?

She dusted beneath it and set it on a shelf.

I frowned.

Nah. Put it back. He asked if all his shit was here. Don’t have him coming in thinking somebody stole a truck before he even got comfortable.

She kept wiping.

The second she turned toward the closet, I concentrated on the little truck. It rolled forward slowly, one wheel catching against the edge of a book before it stopped.

I tried again.

It moved another inch.

Aight. You know what? He’ll find it.

I had other shit to check.

In the primary bedroom, a man was pulling fresh sheets across my mattress while another cleaner arranged the pillows.

Put two on her side. She sleeps with one under her head and hugs the other.

The woman stacked three against the headboard, then added a decorative one in front.

I stared at her.

She's coming here to sleep, not climb through a damn obstacle course.

Once they stepped away, I concentrated on the little square pillow until it tipped forward and slid off the bed.

The woman turned at the sound, picked it up, and placed it on the chair.

I nodded.

There we go. We can work together.

In a little while, my girl would be here instead of behind glass.

That thought had me checking the bathroom, then the closet, then coming right back to inspect the bed like I hadn’t slept in the damn thing when I was alive.

Pull that corner tighter, I told the man nearest the footboard. She hates when the sheet comes loose.

He tucked it beneath the mattress.

I nodded. There you go. Somebody listening.