“You need to prepare for a world in which you know what happened but no one is convicted,” he said.

I hated that sentence.

I also knew he was trying to protect us from another false assurance.

That evening Austin came over with a canvas bag full of produce from Elaine’s garden center.

He put carrots on the counter and asked whether I’d show him how to make the soup Wyatt always talked about.

I nearly dropped the knife.

For months, every conversation between us had started with a document, a phone call, or a question about the past.

Now he was asking about soup.