I laid the house keys on the little cherry wood table by the front door, right beside the mail tray.

“Naomi,” Margaret said, her voice going lower.

I took hold of the heavy handles on both suitcases, lifted them off the rug, and walked out the door.

The rain was in my hair before I’d gone three steps down the driveway.

I didn’t turn back to look at the front porch or the light glowing in the entryway window.

Twenty minutes later the taxi let me off at an airport hotel near O’Hare.

The lobby smelled of damp carpet and desk cleaner, and the room was a hundred forty-five dollars for the night.