the driveway, when a silver sedan pulled up to the curb. A woman I had never seen before stepped out. She didn’t look like a mourner; she looked like someone on a mission, her movements sharp and hurried. She walked straight to the mailbox, slipped something inside, and turned back toward her car.
“Wait!” I shouted, running toward the front door. “Can I help you?” But she didn’t even glance back. The engine roared to life, and she sped away, leaving nothing but a cloud of exhaust and a lingering
