Chapter 7 — Three Months, Tops

The worst came about an hour in, and it turned the last of my grief to ice.

Victoria was sitting on the edge of my bed, and she said, in the bored voice of a woman who feels she’s been waiting too long for something she’s owed, “Julian, when are you going to stop dragging this out?

You promised we’d have the house in Aspen by spring.” And my husband — buttoning his shirt in front of my mirror, in my bedroom — answered her.

“Patience, Vic,” he said.