Elena watched her in the rearview mirror.

“Sunday dinner?” Elena asked.

“If you’re up to it.”

“Yes,” Abigail said before I could answer.

Elena nodded and got in.

That was the whole conversation, but it carried us.

The new apartment was on the second floor of a brick building, with a kitchen window that faced the alley.

At half past noon the sun came through it and laid a clean square on the breakfast table.