At 7:12 on a Saturday morning in Pasadena, the old piano finally rolled out of the garage—and immediately blocked the only path to the driveway. Mara stood beside it in paint-splattered sneakers, staring at the hulking walnut cabinet as the sun climbed over the San Gabriel Mountains. Behind her, a stack of cracked patio pavers leaned against the fence. Ahead, a renovation crew was due in two days. And somewhere between the piano and the pavers lay the question every cleanup eventually asks: Where does all of this go?
Her brother Daniel had promised the project would be simple.
