Another pause. Then he heard the temperature in my voice and stopped asking. “Send me the details. Give me an hour.”

I did not think about that pause again for over two years.

Chapter 5 — Reckoning at Home

I got back to Buckhead as the sun set. The morning’s solemn farewell was long gone. The smell of stale beer and cheap delivery food hit me at the door.

Pistachio shells were ground into the Persian rug, water rings marked my glass coffee table, and the television blared. Walter was sprawled across the leather sofa, shoes on, snoring.

Shirley was in my kitchen, rooting through the refrigerator.

She heard the latch, slammed the fridge, and marched over with a pinched face. “And where have you been? We nearly starved in this sterile box — not a single home-cooked meal ready.