She picked her gift bags up off the hood and headed for the front porch without waiting for me to answer.

“Bring the sweet potatoes in,” Caroline called over her shoulder.

“And try not to track salt onto her hallway rug.”

I lifted the warm ceramic dish off the passenger-side floor and held Lucy’s little hand as we climbed the concrete steps.

Inside the front hall of the brick house on Elm Street, the air smelled of floor wax, pine needles, and roast pork.

I hung Lucy’s winter coat on the brass hook of the hall tree and wiped the snow off the bottoms of her rubber boots with a paper towel.