“I’ll drive down to the post office with you after work,” Lynn said, smiling warmly as she stepped back toward her own car.

By five thirty, dusk had settled over Oak Ridge in long, soft shadows across the front yard.

Greg walked slowly out the front door, his hand sliding smoothly along the new iron support rail mounted beside the porch steps.

He wore his heavy winter coat over his cardigan, moving with a careful, deliberate rhythm across the painted wooden deck boards.

He sat down beside me on the wooden porch swing and let out a quiet, relaxed breath as he pulled the plaid wool blanket across his knees.