The storm was bringing the leaves down. They had been coming down all week in swirls and clumps, slicing the air with their brittle tips. Sara watched them fall, heavy with rain. They whirled down out of the sky like drunken birds and slapped again [...]
Rain splashed against the window, smearing the glow from the street lamps. Angela looked out at the wet street. November. Darkness had come early, unexpectedly, while the three of them sat at the dining room table, working their way through the pot roast and potatoes.
After supper, when the dishes had been washed and put away, Angela and her mother, Norma, moved into the living room while Dan disappeared into his den.