He started the car and sat at the curb with the heater going.

By three that afternoon Sophie’s little hatchback was in my driveway with the trunk open.

The autumn air smelled of damp oak and exhaust from passing trucks.

Sophie carried two hard-shell suitcases down the front steps while I brought out a cardboard box of kitchen things.

I packed three warm wool sweaters, my winter coat, my prescription bottles and the blue envelope Vance had gone over.

Dean sat in his Buick down the block, watching through the windshield with his engine running.