“I’ve been tasting the sauce all afternoon.”

Noah looked down.

His fingers caught the bottom of his gray T-shirt and twisted the fabric into a tight spiral.

I noticed.

I should have paid more attention.

The old corded telephone mounted near the pantry gave a dry little click.

Our landline was ancient.

Daniel hated it.

He said nobody needed a house phone anymore.

I had kept it because cell service around Oakhaven became unreliable during winter storms.

Daniel turned the burner down.

Then wiped his hands.

“Clara, go out to the garage and find my three-foot level.”

“The wood one?”