“I might.” She stood and adjusted the cane.

“But not the pills.”

The porch step at the cottage had a hairline crack that ran from the top board to the second nail.

I hadn’t noticed it before.

I carried Rosalie’s bag over it and set it inside the door.

The old golden retriever came down the hall with his tail swinging hard enough to knock over the umbrella stand.

He pressed his head into Rosalie’s knee and whined once.