She’s fidgety, and he thought the warmth would settle her.”

I put the towel back on the bar.

The fold sat wrong now, and neither of us fixed it.

“Marcus knows people who fix things,” she said.

“He handles all of it.

He always has.”

She walked back toward the living room before I could ask what she meant by that.

Marcus was in the leather chair with his shoes off, his twelve-hundred-dollar loafers set heel to heel under the coffee table.