Or not lie.
The technical truth.
The house did need checking.
Philip’s voice is careful when he says, “How is it?”
The room seems to narrow around the question.
I look out through the glass doors.
Morning beginning to silver the garden.
“Quiet.”
Another pause.
“I remember that.”
“Yeah.”
The word comes out rougher than I mean it to.
Philip breathes out softly.
For a second I think he might say something else.
Something that would change the shape of the call.
Instead he says, “Has Heath forgiven the seagulls?”
I chuckle, grateful and disappointed in the same breath.
“He’s building resilience.”
“Is he?”
“No.”
Philip’s laugh comes quietly through the phone.
Sleepy.
Warm.
Close in a way he is not.
I close my eyes and let myself have it for half a second.
Just the sound.
Then he says, “I miss that house.”
It is so soft I almost don’t hear it.
But I do.
My grip tightens around the phone.
