He stood on the porch for nearly a minute before pressing the bell, as if he hoped I would not hear it.

I opened the door but did not invite him in immediately.

He looked older than he had the previous week.

His shirt was wrinkled, his face unshaven, and there was a pale line around his ring finger where he had been twisting the band.

He wasn’t wearing his work badge, which usually hung from his belt even when he had the day off.

“Where’s Mason?” he asked.