Diane's car pulled into the driveway at four thirty.

Cole heard it from the living room where he was sitting with a book he had not been reading. He heard Ava's bedroom door open upstairs and her footsteps on the stairs and then the front door opening and Diane's voice bright and warm and full of the weekend she'd had.

He stood up.

He put the book down on the coffee table and straightened his shirt and walked to the hallway.

Diane was already inside, suitcase by the door, her arms around Ava who was hugging her back properly — not the careful hug of someone performing, just her daughter,...