“Of course you will, Emily, but you’ll see it gives you exactly what you asked for.”

He headed back toward the slide, calling Sophie’s name with practiced warmth.

At five o’clock Sunday afternoon, Grant pulled his Buick up to the curb in front of my rented apartment building.

He climbed the three wooden porch steps carrying Sophie’s pink vinyl weekend duffel.

He had on his dark charcoal suit, the one he’d bought four years ago for our anniversary vow renewal at the golf club.

He set the duffel down by the door knocker and looked at the chipped white paint on the wooden door frame.