I smoothed the wrinkles out of the fabric, buying a few minutes while I tried to work out my next move.

I set my toiletry bag on top and zipped the canvas flap closed.

By sixteen hundred hours I took hold of the plastic handle and carried the bag down the narrow wooden staircase.

The heavy wheels thumped against each wooden step, echoing through the quiet front hall.

Glenn was leaning on the porch railing when I pushed open the front door.

He had a fresh bottle of beer in his hand.