It feels a little like a reproach, as though I couldn’t possibly understand what a crazy day at work looks like. Which, having heard the stories I bring home from Birch Bend Elementary, he knows is not the case. Oliver’s always valued my work though, always respected it, I remind myself.

“Okay, well…I hope it gets better,” I say. “I know this is a tough time.”

He nods, but seems distracted.

“So in other news,” I say, “Abigail turned off her phone earlier.” I checked my messages again after Sam was in bed. “My messages aren’t delivering.”

Oliver grimaces.

“Well, I guess if she wanted you to know where she was going and why, she’d probably have told you. The way you and your mom and Dennis must have been blowing up her phone, it kind of makes sense that she doesn’t want to deal with it.”

True, I guess. But not that comforting.

“Dinah was saying maybe we should get a PI,” I say. “You know, to track her down. Is that crazy?”

Oliver looks at me in a way that makes me think that yes, it probably is crazy.

“I don’t know, Gill. Maybe it’s best to just wait it out. Wait for her to, you know, wind down.”

The thing is, my sister isn’t a wind-up toy, or a toddler with too much sugar in her system. I understand what Oliver’s saying, and I understand why. He’s the let it run its course guy; he believes in letting things shake out, and that somehow it’ll be for the best. But what if that’s not the approach we need right now?

Oliver hooks a finger around the back of his shirt, freeing it from his neck. He really does look exhausted.

“How’s Sam?” he says finally.

I glance up towards the landing.

“I think maybe he’s adjusting a bit,” I say, hoping I don’t jinx the small shift between my nephew and me that I thought I felt earlier. “We watched a movie after dinner.”

Oliver looks up at me as he steps out of his other shoe and moves them to the rack.

“He probably needs to get out of the house a bit more.”

A suggestion that would probably sit a little better with me if Oliver had made any alterations to his own schedule since Sam arrived.

“Mom came by earlier, actually,” I say. “Sam went to the cemetery with her.”

“Uplifting,” Oliver says, and thumbs his phone to check the time. “Yikes, Gill, it’s late.” He drops his phone on the console table and moves in socked feet towards the kitchen. “Want some water?” he says over his shoulder.

“Sure.”