I parked on the visitor level of Ethan’s condo building downtown.

The elevator opened right onto his private hallway.

I knocked twice on his heavy wooden door.

Ethan answered with a rolled-up set of architectural blueprints in his hand.

He had on a faded gray shirt and looked worn out.

“Mother,” Ethan said.

“I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“I wanted to bring you some dinner,” I said.