Outside, the air smelled like the inside of a cooler.

I loaded the suitcase into the trunk, then the diaper bag, then the stroller folded flat.

Headlights swept across the garage door.

A Buick rolled up to the curb, and Patricia climbed out with her coat already buttoned all the way to her neck.

“Elena.” She came up the driveway at her own pace.

“You aren’t even dressed.”

“Morning, Patricia.”

She looked past me into the open trunk, at the suitcase, at the stroller, and her mouth made a small, pleased little shape.