By five o’clock the autumn wind had picked up, blowing dry yellow birch leaves across the cracked asphalt of our driveway.

I was standing at the edge of the grass when David pulled his gray sedan up to the house, his tires crunching loudly over the loose gravel.

He got out of the car holding his dark topcoat closed around his waist, his eyes landing right away on the huge cardboard carton leaning against the blue recycling bins.

It was the empty box from the crib Sarah and I had put together in the living room three hours before.

David walked right past his open car door, pulled his right boot back and kicked the cardboard box as hard as he could.