Twenty-three years of that lock, and it still gave at the same quarter inch.

I stood in my own front hall with my coat still on and listened to the house.

Nothing moved in it.

That was the sound it made now.

Sun lay in a long yellow bar across the kitchen table.

Ethan sat in his old chair with a bowl of cereal, his phone face down by the napkin holder, his hair going in four directions.

“Pass the sugar, please.”