The maple had turned copper.

Bright autumn light lay flat across the porch, and the window above it was dark now, as it had been for eleven nights.

“Nineteen minutes,” Daniel Harris said.

He was watching the movers, not the house.

“That’s how long we stood on that step before he got out of the way.”

“Twenty-two,” María said.

She touched her shoulder radio clip and let her hand fall.

“I put it in the report.