“And you slipped the keys into your pocket while I was mixing the last bottle.”

Behind Ethan, the heavy wooden inner door swung wider.

Richard Harrison stepped out onto the porch in his gray postal union shirt and thick socks.

He held a TV remote in his right hand, his thumb resting near the power button.

He looked at Linda, then at Ethan, and finally down at my father standing in the middle of the driveway holding Noah.

“What’s all this noise about?” Richard asked, his low voice quiet but heavy.