My purse felt light in my lap, with nothing in it but my driver’s license, Noah’s prescription sheet, and an empty paper envelope.

Irene Bauer came down the concrete walk carrying a brown paper bag.

She had on her heavy gray winter coat, and her hands kept patting her coat pockets out of old habit as she walked.

She sat down next to me on the cold iron slats without asking whether the seat was free.

“He yelled at you,” Irene said gently.

“He accused me of taking shop towels in front of Mr.