I adjusted my watch strap, got back into the SUV, and pulled away from the curb.

At exactly five thirty, I turned back onto Elm Street and parked in front of the house.

The sun was sinking low behind the oak trees, casting long shadows across the front lawn.

Richard was kneeling on a fleece blanket on the grass, holding Noah steady while my son tried to take three clumsy steps forward.

Ethan stood two feet away, his hands out to catch Noah if he tumbled onto the blanket.

Linda sat in the far corner of the porch on a metal glider, watching them silently with her hands in her lap.