I remembered dusting the bookshelf where the clear plastic container usually sat next to his college textbooks.

I wondered whether there had been something shiny near the baseboards when I pushed the vacuum into the dark corner.

I rubbed my thumbnail hard against my finger, trying to find the exact shape of that afternoon in my mind.

“I need a drink of water,” I said.

“Take your time,” Carter said.

“I have a few more questions for your husband about his travel schedule.”

I walked past a coffee machine that poured thin brown liquid into paper cups.