“I’m sorry.”

He squeezes my elbow so unexpectedly that by the time I realize what he’s done, his hand is back on Guy’s head. He frowns and says a quiet, “I understand that some pets have to be outdoors. By definition, a barn cat is an outdoor cat. But this isn’t a barn cat. She’s a longtime pet that goes in and out of the house at will. That’s asking for trouble. Dogs, fine,” he says, running a hand along the pit bull’s sleek flank. When the dog opens its eyes and smiles—I swear, it does—he smiles back. “They have to be walked. But cats are safer staying indoors. The alternative is inviting trouble.” His smile fades. “Lately it’s been coyotes. The small animals they grab are often found dead or close to, in which case the best I can do is put them out of their misery. Or they’re not found at all.” He presses his lips together and inhales through his nose. Exhaling, he says, “Then it’s just wondering what happened.” Ashy eyes meet mine. “Guess I’m the expert at that, right?”

His rancor isn’t what it was yesterday, but I know he’s thinking about Elizabeth. My presence has to be bringing it back.

“You were right, what you said,” I grant him by way of apology. “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

He isn’t surprised that I’ve followed his thoughts. We were always on the same wavelength, Jack Sab and me. Still, I’m startled when he says, “I’m sorry about your mother. She shouldn’t have died that way. It must have been hard for you, being in New York.”

Funny. My first thought when I learned that my mother had died was to call Jack. Joy was too young to understand, and my friends didn’t know my mom. Jack did. He knew that I loved her with the kind of love that never, ever died. Most anyone could guess that. At the same time, I blamed her for things I didn’t understand. Only Jack knew that. But we were enemies by the time she died and couldn’t talk. I’m not sure we can now, either. So I simply wrap my arms around my middle and nod.

“Did you ever ask—” he started.

“No.”

“She never explained—”