“Look, Mom, it’s eleven.” He rubbed the back of his neck and stepped around me into the hall.

“Breakfast.

I promise.”

His footsteps went up and stopped at the landing.

I stood in the doorway with the page still in my hand.

Behind me the printer light was blinking green, and the tray was empty, and the machine was warm.

I sat down in his chair, which he had left pushed back at an angle, and set the packing list beside the keyboard.

The resort’s page was still open where I had left it.