“Sarah!” she screamed toward the ceiling. “Sarah, get the bags down here now!”

Heavy footsteps sounded on the floorboards directly above us.

A door creaked open, and the muffled sound of a child complaining drifted down the stairwell.

“Mom?” Sarah’s voice came from the landing. “What is going on down there?”

“We are leaving,” Juliette said.

She gripped her leather handbag so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“Get your things, get the kids, and get in the car.”

“But the food is still on the counter,” Sarah said, her voice appearing at the top of the stairs.

She came down slowly, holding a half-packed canvas duffel bag.

Her eyes moved from her mother to Dan, and then to me.

She saw the phone in Dan’s hand.

“What did you do, Mom?” Sarah asked quietly.

“We are leaving because this family has no respect for privacy,” Juliette said.

She grabbed the frame of the front door, looking out at the gravel driveway.

The bright afternoon sun glared off the windshields of the three parked cars.

They sat there like heavy, useless metal boxes in the heat.