He shifted on the wooden step, staring down at the cracked concrete of the front walk.

“My mother’s upstairs in the back room,” he said quietly.

“She hasn’t come down since eleven.”

“She knows what the schedule is,” I said.

At two thirty, the front screen door creaked on its spring and Eleanor stepped out onto the porch.

She wasn’t in her usual floral robe.

She had on a faded dark cardigan buttoned all the way up to her chin, her hands pushed into the side pockets.

She came slowly down the top two steps and stopped just behind Daniel’s right shoulder.