I got in and sat with the engine off and both hands on the wheel.

A card had been passed around that church for my granddaughter, and nobody had brought it to my door.

Coffee hour was in the parlor off the fellowship hall, and the urn was still sputtering when I came back in through the side door.

Julian was standing by the creamer with a paper cup in one hand and the other on Tom Drucker’s shoulder, laughing at something.

I set my purse on the folding table and waited until Tom wandered off toward the pastry tray.