“For the date.”
I looked at him.
Caleb smiled.
“Try not to discuss receivables.”
“I will throw you into the harbor.”
“Romantic.”
I had ordered dinner from a small Mediterranean restaurant near the ferry terminal because Noah had loved itbefore the accident and because the menu offered enough simple flavors that he could decide what he liked now.
The total made me hesitate.
I paid with my personal credit card anyway, then hated myself for doing it.
One meal would not save or destroy the yard.
Tonight mattered.
That thought had become dangerous. Every small pleasure felt urgently precious, which made it easy to justify costs I should not incur.
I collected the food, bought two glass bottles of sparkling pear soda from the grocer, and returned through the side entrance after Caleb and Owen left.
Rain had stopped.
The workshop smelled of wet wood and cooling metal.
I locked the doors, set the alarm, and carried everything upstairs.
The living room was empty.
“Marlowe?”
The dog appeared from the bedroom hallway.
No Noah.
I placed the food on the kitchen counter.
“Noah?”
No answer.
The bathroom door stood open.
The bedroom was empty.
His powered chair sat crooked beside the spare-room entrance.
My body reacted before thought.
My pulse surged.
Every terrible possibility arrived at once.
A fall.
