A harsh north wind rattled the bare cottonwood trees in the front yard.

We walked across the dark lawn toward our minivan, parked on the dead grass.

Walt stepped out onto the concrete porch.

He left the heavy front door open behind him.

The yellow hallway light spilled out onto the painted porch boards.

He stood at the top of the wooden stairs with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

I stopped at the back bumper of the minivan and looked back at him through the cold air.

Walt gave a single, slow nod.