I pushed the heavy oak door open, stepped out onto the porch, and went down the brick steps into the damp evening.

Eleanor stood in the doorway behind him, watching me walk to my car, but neither of them set foot on the driveway.

I put my suitcase in the trunk, shut the lid hard, and drove away from Maple Street without once touching the brake.

Traffic on the Eisenhower Expressway crawled through the damp autumn fog as I headed east toward the skyline.

My phone lit up on the passenger seat with a text from Brenda giving an address on North Michigan Avenue.