“Yeah, buddy,” I said.

“I got here.”

And Lucas, who could never bear to be left out of anything, came barreling down the hallway and launched himself onto my back, laughing, wrapping his arms around my neck.

“Thirty-five minutes late!” he shouted, delighted with himself, because it had become the family joke by then — the story of the delayed flight, the thirty-five minutes that gave us to each other.

And Rosalind laughed.

It was a real laugh, sudden and unguarded, and it was the first time since that morning in the terminal that I had heard her laugh in a way that sounded exactly like the woman I had fallen in love with seven years before — the woman who was never intimidated, who challenged me, who laughed at the things I took too seriously.