“You do not owe him details.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
I looked toward the pale light at the curtains.
“I want to go because I chose to go before the song played. I don’t want fear deciding I can’t now.”
Reid studied me.
“That sounds like Dr. Whitcomb.”
“She’s infected all of us.”
His mouth curved.
“Do you feel strong enough?”
“Yes.”
“Your definition or mine?”
“Mine.”
“Concerning.”
“We stay an hour.”
“Ninety minutes maximum.”
“An hour.”
“Seventy-five.”
“Fine.”
“And the chair comes.”
I sighed.
“The chair comes.”
Elias and Miriam lived fifteen miles inland, where the coastal spruce gave way to open fields and low orchards.
Their house sat at the end of a gravel lane lined with pear trees. Wind chimes moved beneath the porch. A long red barn stood beyond the garden, its roof patched in three different colors.
Cars filled the grass beside the drive.
I looked at Reid.
“You said small gathering.”
“I repeated what Miriam told me.”
“Never trust a woman who brings cardamom bread to a first visit.”
