“He cornered me last night.”
Patricia looked up sharply.
“What did he say?”
“He said I could talk to him about anything.
He was checking whether I’d told her.” Ava nodded toward me.
“He does that.
He asks soft questions and watches your face.”
“Then we move tonight.” Patricia stood.
“Go home.
Make dinner.
I’ll call you by eight.”
We drove home in near silence.
Ava stared out the passenger window.
I kept both hands on the wheel and thought about the first year after Chloe’s passing — how Daniel had held me while I cried, how he had spoken at her memorial, how he had said her name like it cost him something.
All of it performance.
Every tear a calculation.
Daniel was home when we arrived, earlier than usual.
He was in the kitchen, and he had already started dinner.
Pasta.
He was stirring the sauce when we walked in.
