I watched his rusty green pickup back down the driveway before I stepped out onto the wooden back porch.

The morning air was freezing and cut right through my flannel shirt, but I didn’t go in for a sweater.

Frost glittered white on the wooden railing under the alley light.

I sat down on the top step and took my phone out of my coat pocket.

For twelve years I’d kept a firm rule never to call Rory’s mother to complain about her son.

When the divorce went through, I’d promised myself I’d handle my own child without pulling an old woman into our fights.