“He didn’t ask about the boxes even once.”

“Thanks, David,” I’d said to him.

He’d nodded once, rapped the doorframe with his knuckles, and walked down the driveway to his station wagon without looking back.

At seven thirty I went into the kitchen and looked out the double window over the sink.

The sun was sinking low behind the tall cedars at the back of the property, casting long purple shadows over the grass.

The orange light lit up the side of the garage, where the fresh white paint had dried completely.