A woman stepped out onto the concrete landing in a bright red knee-length coat over black pants.

She had two paper grocery bags tucked under her arms and her dark hair pulled tight into a clip at the back of her neck.

“Do you know her?” Sarah whispered, leaning forward over the steering wheel.

“No, I don’t,” I said.

She was a few years older than me and carried herself with a relaxed, at-home slouch as she came down the three concrete steps.

She walked with short, quick steps right toward a silver sedan parked three spaces down from us.