At nine o’clock, Adam was sitting at the wooden kitchen table with a fresh mug of black coffee and a second piece of cake.

I cut myself a slice and sat down across from him, sliding the mortgage notice farther out of view behind the napkin holder.

“Graham is going through a really rough time, Hazel,” Adam said out of nowhere, before I’d even lifted my fork.

“Having trouble with the regional accounts?” I asked.

“With his personal life,” Adam said.

He quit tapping on his mug and fixed his eyes on mine.

“He wants a family.