At nine thirty the house was dark apart from the yellow light falling out of our bedroom doorway.

I stood by the tall mahogany dresser while Zane took his leather briefcase out of the closet and laid it flat on the floral quilt.

“You’re packing,” I said to him.

“I’ve got a building inspection in Canton at eight tomorrow morning,” he said.

He didn’t turn around to look at me.

“My files have to be ready before I drive out there.”

“Jeremy hasn’t strung five words together since the funeral,” I said, my voice steady while my thumb pressed into my silver band.