For twenty-six months, every single conversation between us had ended with a sum or a shift time.

Now the morning stretched out ahead of us like an open county road in late May.

“Kim called me from her new kitchen yesterday,” I said.

Nate kept his eyes on the blacktop lane without turning his head.

“What did Kim want?” he asked.

“She wanted to know if you had time to look at the pilot light on her water heater,” I said.

“I can go over Saturday morning,” Nate said softly.