Although it wasn’t cold, he was shivering; and the heat from the wood cook stove in the kitchen would have felt good, except he dreaded his grandmother. She was such a strong, steady, dignified woman, she would be shamed and grieved by what was going on. It wasn’t likely that she’d ask him any questions, but he didn’t want to be around her or his grandfather either. It would be painful and embarrassing. He didn’t even want his grandfather looking out the window of the post office and catching sight of him. Trembling from excitement and fear, he crept up on the porch and sat on its front edge by the quince bushes, where an obtuse triangle of sunlight still reached the floorboards and warmed them. He hugged his knees to his chest, awed by the sight of his father’s car in the driveway. Could it really be there? Right there? It was all milky down its sides with road film from having brought his father such a great distance to be with them, to be with his mother at that moment. Maybe this time it would work.
