“Did he say whether we’re going early on Saturday?” she asked.

“He said he’d text you Thursday afternoon to set the exact time,” I said.

Sadie reached over to the nightstand, picked up the crisp twenty-dollar bill and smoothed it against the denim of her jeans.

“We could order pizza for dinner tonight like he said,” she said.

“From the place by the lumberyard with the garlic crust.”

I looked at the silver sandals on the screen, then down at the clean bill lying in her lap.

For a month, every dealing with Rory had felt like crossing a frozen stock pond, waiting for the ice to crack beneath me.