His voice had lost the sharp, rapid rhythm he used when he ran through property listings for rich buyers on his cell phone.

I went to the little wicker table by the door frame, picked up the tall glass of ice water I had poured ten minutes earlier, and came back to the edge of the steps.

I passed the glass down to him over the railing.

“You can sit on the step for a minute, Daniel, but that porch swing belongs to me.”

He took the glass in his right hand and sank down heavily onto the middle step, his elbows on his knees.