The house felt too small, the air thick with things I did not know how to fix. I stood up and walked to the front door, stepping out onto the concrete porch to get a breath of the cool autumn air.
The damp smell of oak leaves hung heavy over the driveway, and the sky was turning a bruised purple.
Jim, my neighbor from three doors down, was standing near his mailbox, sorting through a handful of white envelopes. He looked up, saw me on the porch, and walked over to the edge of my driveway.
“Evening, Andrew,” Jim said, leaning his hands on his hips. “You just get Tommy back?”
“A little while ago,” I said, stepping down the porch stairs to meet him.
“I saw Lauren’s car fly out of here,” Jim said, shaking his head. “She almost took the corner on two wheels. I thought maybe there was some kind of emergency.”
“She was in a hurry,” I said.
“She usually stops to chat with my wife if she sees her,” Jim said, looking toward the empty street. “Not today. She looked like she was running from a fire.”
