I put the tape down and went out without a jacket.

The window rolled down before I got to the curb.

Evelyn, my mother, in her good coat, with a spiral notebook open on the passenger seat and a paper grocery bag on the floor with carrots poking out the top.

“Clara.

I was just driving by.”

“On Maple Street.

Parked at the end of the block.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt.