Vanessa carried her empty cup to the steps and handed it back to me.

She went down the wooden stairs to the gravel drive just as a dark sedan came through the open iron gates.

Margaret parked right beside the white SUV.

She got out holding a brown paper bakery bag that smelled strongly of warm cinnamon.

Margaret had on her gardening shoes and a sensible denim jacket.

She looked at Vanessa, then up at me on the porch.

Vanessa gave Margaret a big, cheerful wave.