“You returned with ice cream.”
“That was probably a better choice.”
“It did very little for the plates.”
His mouth twitched.
He unlocked the phone and scrolled.
“There’s one where I asked whether Marlowe ate one of your shoes.”
“He did.”
“You replied, ‘Only the expensive one.’”
“It was a difficult day.”
Noah turned the phone toward me.
The conversation glowed on the screen.
NOAH: Dog ate your shoe.
REID: Which shoe?
NOAH: Brown one.
REID: I own three brown pairs.
NOAH: Expensive brown one.
REID: Naturally.
NOAH: He apologizes.
REID: Marlowe cannot speak.
NOAH: That is exactly what he wants you to believe.
Noah studied my face.
“This feels real.”
“It was.”
“It isn’t important.”
“It mattered deeply to the shoe.”
He looked down again.
“There are so many messages telling each other where we were.”
“What do you mean?”
“Running late. At the market. Leaving the yard. Bringing dinner. Coming upstairs.”
His throat worked.
