She sat behind the wheel with both hands at ten and two, staring straight past the porch steps.

Sadie zipped up her denim jacket and picked up her little purse from the hall table.

“Is Grandma mad at us?” Sadie asked under her breath.

“She isn’t mad at us,” I said.

We walked out to the car together.

I opened the front passenger door while Sadie pulled the back door handle and climbed into the back seat.

The car smelled of wintergreen mints and old crushed velvet seats.

Darla turned a little in her seat and looked back over her shoulder at Sadie.