The air had cooled fast, carrying the damp, salty smell of the Atlantic coast.

Matty was sitting by himself on the top wooden step of our front porch with his knees hugged to his chest.

His round plastic wire-rimmed glasses were off, bunched in his shirt hem while he rubbed the lenses again and again.

I came up the front steps and sat on the painted board next to him.

“Hey there, Matty,” I said.

He didn’t look up at first.