something with me, Carina.”
“No, you don’t. Eli still sleeps with Darren’s sweatshirt when there’s thunder. That umbrella wasn’t a prop.”
Jenelle wiped at her cheek. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Eli. I’m sorry, Carina.”
A teenage boy raised his phone again.
Jenelle spun toward him. “Stop filming this family. This is their home, not a stage.”
This time, everyone obeyed.
After the sidewalk finally emptied, I turned to Eli. “We’re taking all of this inside.”
“Can we open some first?” he asked.
“No, Eli.”
