It was Evan’s.

I stepped up onto the little wooden porch with a heavy glass jar of warm vegetable soup wrapped in a clean dish towel.

Before I could reach for the brass knocker, the screen door swung open with a click.

Mrs.

Carter stood in the doorway in a thick cardigan sweater, holding a clear glass mug of tea in both hands.

“I thought I heard your car, Brenda,” she said.