I drove out of the school lot into the dark winter evening and headed for my father’s house.

The guest room at the end of the hall smelled of cedarwood and clean wool.

I sat on the edge of the twin bed with my hands flat on my knees.

On the rug next to the bed sat the one black canvas bag I’d brought back from the Munich airport.

Inside were three folded blouses, a single sweater, and a little zippered travel kit.

Everything else I owned was hanging in the master bedroom closet three miles away, behind a brass deadbolt I couldn’t turn anymore.