Nothing about the scene looked like the quiet aftermath I had imagined.

Something moved near the front-room window.

A boy, perhaps twelve, knelt beside an open leather suitcase.

Patrick’s suitcase.

The boy wore a navy baseball cap that I recognized immediately.

Patrick had owned it for thirty years.

The fabric had faded unevenly, and the brim had the slight curve he preferred.

I had almost bought him a replacement once.