“I’m careful with everything now, babe.

Trent, did you tell her about the closets yet?”

“I’m working on it, honey.”

Four champagne flutes stood on the coffee table next to a bowl of lemons, and the sun through the back window cast a stripe down the hall runner.

My mother’s camel coat hung on the closet door at the top of the stairs with one sleeve out, the way someone leaves a coat when they plan to carry it somewhere in a minute.

Gloria came up the front walk with a grocery bag on her hip and her good navy coat on, the one she wears when she intends to be noticed.