Angela lived in a brownstone on a quiet street that had trees on both sides and the particular stillness of a neighborhood that minded its own business.
She was standing outside when I pulled up.
I had not seen her in two years and she looked exactly the same, tall and warm with natural hair pulled back and the kind of face that made you feel immediately that everything was going to be manageable. She came to the car before I had fully stopped and opened the back door and looked at Eli sleeping and pressed her hand briefly to her mouth and then composed herself and looked at me through the window.
I got out.
She pulled me into a hug before I could say a word and held on properly, the kind of hug that had weight and intention behind it, and I stood in the street outside her brownstone w
