“It was three in the afternoon,” Bob said quietly, leaving long gaps between his words.

“The sun was still high over the upper bridge.”

Zane turned his back on my father and left the dining room without saying anything else.

I stood beside the table for three minutes while the water slowly seeped into the rug under the sideboard.

“Sarah,” my mother whispered, her voice crisp and proper even though her cheeks had gone pale.

“Would you like me to go up to him?”