In the spot where the Mercedes used to be.”

The space in front of the garage held a silver Ford Explorer with my company’s name in small black letters on the driver’s door.

“Lease under the LLC, insurance under the LLC, fuel card in the glove box,” Sarah said.

“It smells like a rental.

Give it a week.”

In the back seat were my winter coats in a dry cleaner’s bag, both of them, and a cardboard box marked in Sarah’s own handwriting: TRENT, GOLF CLUBS, WATCH BOX.

“Where’d all that come from?”