At nine the next morning, the kitchen smelled of dark roast coffee and toast.

I stood at the marble island in a thick gray sweater and comfortable old jeans.

The house was perfectly quiet.

Ethan sat at the big wooden table in a plain gray sweatshirt.

He was staring down into his black mug.

I took a ceramic plate down from the upper cabinet.

I set a slice of toast by his right elbow.

He didn’t look up.