“You’re not apologizing,” I said. “You’re just frightened of the dark.”

I turned my back and walked out into the afternoon sun. Whatever sounds he made behind me were cut off the moment the door shut.

Chapter 6 — The Amber Tea

Six months went by like a storm clearing.

I stood on a grassy hill above an ocean I’d never seen before, looking down at a modest headstone. When Marcus lost the childhood home to foreclosure — buried under civil judgments and corporate debt — the relatives scattered, and nobody wanted the expense of maintaining a grave.

Through Mr. Harrison, I petitioned the state and took custody of Margaret’s urn without opposition.

“It really feels like autumn now, Margaret,” I said, tracing the engraved letters with a cloth. The wind moved through the pines, and warmth settled across my shoulders, as if she were agreeing.