He rolled down the window and rested his elbow on the frame.

“Just deposit the check, Rachel,” he said.

He put the car in gear and drove off down the quiet residential street.

He drove exactly the speed limit, leaving a little puff of white exhaust behind him.

I stood by myself in the driveway for a long time.

The cold wind cut through my thin sweater.

I pulled the driver’s door open and sat down behind the wheel.

The 2012 Honda CR-V smelled of old crayons and stale apple slices.