"And Danny?"
He waited at the foot of the stairs with his hand on the newel post. He had slid down that banister ten thousand times as a boy and had a scar on his chin from the time he'd missed.
"That Lena turned out real pretty," his mother said.
"Goodnight, Ma."
"I'm just saying."
* * *
The side door to the Marchetti garage stuck at the bottom, the way it had always stuck, and he had to lift it slightly on its hinges and shoulder it, the way he had always done, and the muscle memory of that small motion went through him so hard that he had to stand for a moment in the doorway with his hand on the cold knob before he could go in.
She was already there.