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Write down the date.

Preserve the evidence.

“I can look at it Thursday afternoon,” I continued. “Send me the measurements first.”

Trevor recovered quickly. “I already have drawings.”

“Accurate drawings?”

He looked offended. “Creative drawings.”

“Send measurements.”

He walked away, muttering something about oppressive project-management culture. Smiling, I gathered my things. Progress, in this case, was simply finishing a sentence without volunteering three additional hours of my life.

By noon, I had returned the toolbox to my apartment and crossed through the connecting door into Mom and Julie’s kitchen.

Lunch waited on the island.

Julie had set out bowls of soup, thick slices of bread, cut fruit, and enough sandwich ingredients to support spontaneous arrivals. She was at the stove, wearing a pale blue blouse with puffed sleeves and pearl earrings.

Mom sat at the table, going over the notes from the last council meeting. As usual, Byron had a paperback open. Jason had one leg stretched beneath the table and was watching a martial arts video with the sound turned low.

Caldwell sat at the island with his sketchbook.

Julie looked at me. “You’re on time.”

“I said I’d be here.”

“You say many things.”

Mom lowered the paperwork. “Did someone cancel an emergency?”

“No.”

“Are you ill?”

“I’m taking lunch.”

Jason looked up from his phone. “This is getting weird.”

I pulled out a stool beside Caldwell. “Why is everyone so interested in my taking a lunch break?”

“Because you’ve treated meals as optional for years,” Julie said.

“That’s an exaggeration.”

She placed a bowl in front of me. “Eat the soup before you argue.”

I picked up the spoon.

Caldwell’s pencil moved across the page beside me. He’d been drawing quietly when I entered, and he shifted the sketchbook slightly so I could see.

The picture showed three figures standing beneath a row of string lights. One was tall, with dark hair and shoulders wide enough to identify me. One wore a dark dress and boots, probably Patty. The third had long pale hair and held a small square object in both hands.

A cupcake.

I smiled before I could stop myself. “That’s Sloane.”