She came through the door just after dark, the air shifting the second she stepped inside. The soft rustle of a dry cleaner’s bag broke the silence. Draped over her arm was that dress — the one from the theater, the one from the park. The one I couldn’t stop seeing in my head. Fresh pack of cigarettes in her other hand, purse forgotten at her feet. Without a word, she moved through the house, bare-legged beneath a loose t...