For once, Kayla didn't have an immediate response.
Then she looked at me.
"You told him to say that."
I shook my head.
"I didn't even know he was looking at rooms."
Andrew glanced in my direction.
"I probably should've told you."
"Yes," I answered.
He nodded.
"I thought staying out of it meant saying, 'She's your sister.' But really, I left you enforcing a boundary that affected both of us."
I looked at him.
That admission surprised me.
Andrew hadn't done anything inappropriate. He hadn't encouraged Kayla's behavior, and he'd consistently removed himself from situations that made him uncomfortable.
But he was right about one thing.
I'd been left to handle a problem that affected our shared home and our marriage.
His willingness to acknowledge that meant more to me than any dramatic confrontation could have.
Kayla gave a disbelieving laugh.
"Great. Marriage workshop complete. Can I go get dressed now?"
"Please," I answered.
She turned toward the staircase.
"And Kayla?"
She stopped.
"One of those rooms is available now. The woman showing it is free this afternoon."
Kayla spun around.
"You made me an appointment?"
"I found a listing," Andrew clarified.
I picked up his phone.
The photographs showed a bright upstairs bedroom, a shared kitchen, and a small backyard.
Nothing luxurious.
Nothing terrible.
Just an ordinary room in an ordinary house.
I held the phone toward my sister.
"We're going to look at it."
"I'm not moving there."
"Then don't. We're still looking."
"You can't make me."
"You're right," I said, placing the phone on the counter. "But if you're staying here while you figure out your next step, I need to see you taking one."
She stared at me for several seconds.
Then she marched upstairs.
A bedroom door slammed.
Andrew took another sip of coffee.
"Think that went well."
I looked at him.
"Not one word."
"Understood."
Chapter 7: A Different Kind of Test
Twenty minutes later, Kayla came downstairs wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.
She had also discovered the ugliest old robe in our linen closet.
She carried it over one arm before dropping it dramatically onto a chair.
"Happy?"
I looked at the robe.
"Thrilled."
Neither of us mentioned the towel again that morning.
Instead, we drove to see the available room.
The house belonged to a woman named Renee, who appeared to be around Kayla's age and worked from home three days a week.
It was a small house, but it was clean and comfortable.
The bedroom had a window that let in plenty of natural light, and there was enough space for a bed, a dresser, and a small desk.
Kayla inspected it twice.
During her second inspection, she opened the closet and stood looking inside for longer than seemed necessary.
I couldn't tell whether she was genuinely considering the room or searching for reasons to reject it.
Renee showed us the shared kitchen.
"I don't care if you cook late," she explained. "Just clean up afterward. Quiet after eleven during the week. We split paper products."