She picked up the plastic pail and headed around the side of the house, her sneakers scuffing a little through the grass clippings.

By one o’clock the exhaust had cleared out of the yard, and the kitchen smelled of the bruised peaches Emily was unpacking on the island.

I had two bags of groceries lined up on the laminate: six cans of black beans, a gallon of milk, and a box of cereal.

A sudden metal crash hit the side fence, then a heavy pounding that rattled the double-pane kitchen windows in their frames.

Emily dropped a box of pasta on the tile.