The ride back home was different. Before, Justin seemed more empathetic, more understanding. Now, Deven noticed he just had a disconnected attitude about himself. Like he was uncomfortable around her. She wished he would turn on the radio or something, if only to conceal the tension with arbitrary noise.

“Now what?” she said when the silence grew maddening.

Justin tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel, an outward display that he was just as oblivious, if not more so, than her. “I guess I can take you home,” he offered. “And maybe you can do like Officer McKinney suggested. Call your mom first, then maybe start with the funeral arrangements.”

Deven was already shaking her head to dispel her growing agitation. “Justin, no. I told you I wasn’t going to do that. You know why.”

Justin gave a half-assed shrug. “Okay, whatever you want to do, Deven.” The fact that he used her name further solidified his apathy and that sweltering tension settled between them once more, this time heavier. Deven turned back to the window and struggled to ignore the loud silence.

As soon as they returned to the apartment, Justin retreated to the bathroom and immediately, the sound of the shower spray wafted from the closed door. Not knowing what else to do with herself, Deven began making the bed, smoothing the wrinkles from the sheets and stacking her numerous decorative pillows against the headboard. She just needed to keep moving. Maybe then she wouldn’t have to slow down to think.

Perhaps she should cook something. She certainly didn’t have an appetite—in fact the thought of food made her nauseous right then. But Justin was probably hungry, and she didn’t want the morning’s events to dampen the little time they had left together. Maybe a little breakfast would soften their strain and they could discuss, objectively, a reasonable next course of action, whatever that was.

By the time Justin entered the kitchen sometime later, Deven had the smell of greasy bacon permeating throughout the apartment. She used a spatula to rake the cheese eggs onto a plate, scrambled light just like he liked them, and a timer dinged signaling the bagels in the toaster oven had just the right amount of crisp.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were making something to eat.” Justin spoke from behind her.

“Yeah, I figured—” Deven turned with plates in hand, surprised to see he was completely dressed, with his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. “You’re leaving? Now?”

“Yeah, I told you I had to do some things before my flight in the morning.”

Deven sat the food on the table, the dishes clanking a little louder than she intended. “Yeah, but I thought we could . . . I don’t know, talk. Because of what happened this morning.”