At 4:17 on a Thursday afternoon, a single dark cloud appeared over Pasadena—and Mara looked up from the pile of broken plaster in her driveway as if it had personally come to threaten her. The old bungalow was finally ready for its renovation. The kitchen cabinets were gone, the cracked tile had been pried up, and a mountain of debris filled the rented dumpster beside the garage. But rain was coming, the crew was due at dawn, and the dumpster had to go.
