A second later, the heavy starter motor of Mark’s new sedan turned over with a deep roar that echoed through the wall studs.

The automatic garage door opener hummed as the overhead panels rolled up along their metal tracks, and the red taillights swept across the frost on the driveway before the engine noise pulled away down the street.

The kitchen was completely quiet except for the steady, low buzz of the refrigerator compressor behind its panel.

The blue smoke from Sloan’s cigarette still hung in thin gray curtains under the recessed ceiling lights, smelling of cheap tobacco and stale paper.

My cheek throbbed in a hot, tight rhythm with every beat of my heart, the skin stretched and dry across my cheekbone.