“Just look in his bag.”

Then he pulled his head inside.

The doors hissed open, and Ethan stepped down onto the gravel.

His green backpack looked too heavy for his seven-year-old shoulders, pulling his yellow sweater back at the collar.

The doors shut, and the bus moved away, leaving the smell of exhaust behind it.

“Hey, sweetie.”

I reached for his hand.

He did not look up.

He pulled his sweater sleeves over his hands until only his fingertips showed.

“How was your day?”

“Fine.”

His boots clicked on the gravel as he headed toward the porch.

I followed him up the three wooden steps.

The screen door rattled in the wind.