Now Vanessa stepped right across the wooden threshold without waiting to be asked, her dark leather boots clicking hard on the floorboards.

“Look at this entryway,” she said, putting two of the black shopping bags down by the coat rack.

“You’ve still got that old wooden coat tree in the corner.”

“Whose car is that out on the street?” I asked.

“I rented it at the Chicago airport,” she said, flicking a drop of rain off her lapel.

“I decided it was time to come home and see my daughter.”

She didn’t wait for me to take her coat.