Adam shrugs a little, and I follow him up to the cabin. He offers me ice tea or a beer.

“Maybe later,” I say.

We watch the water for a long time. At first we don’t talk about anything important. We don’t talk more about Connor. It’s just too ugly. Instead, we just watch the birds fly. Kayakers paddle around the cove. Laughter from kids staying in the cabin next door, giving the rope swing a good workout, breaches the serenity of the moment. But in a good, life-affirming way. It’s a beautiful, sunny day. If I could be anywhere in the world, it would be right there. If I could change all the circumstances that brought me there, I would do that too.

“You hungry?” he asks.

I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, so I’m basically starving.

“I could eat something,” I say.

He stands. “Let’s head up to Hama Hama.”

“Sounds good,” I tell him. “I haven’t been there in ages.”

We walk to his car, and the empty car seat makes me think of his little girl. “Is Aubrey with Sophie’s folks?”

Adam glances over and shakes his head. “Not a chance. The nanny has her. Just didn’t want the drama of Frank and Helen on this day.”

The Hama Hama Company’s “oyster saloon” has been a fixture north of Lilliwaup for decades. It’s not fancy, but it’s authentic. Locals needing an oyster fix blend in with out-of-towners who have made the place a must-visit for any Hood Canal itinerary. Adam and I order oysters two ways, pan-fried and on the half shell. I’m not a huge oyster fan, but under the right circumstances nothing is better than a cold beer and some very fresh oysters.

We sit there facing each other across a picnic table. We don’t talk about the case. In fact, it’s as if there is no case. We talk about his family. My family. We laugh about some of the things we used to do to pass the time in Shelton when we were kids.

“Can you believe we actually played kick the can?” he says.

“Yeah,” I say. “It was the nineties, but Shelton was stuck in the forties.”

He asks me if I’ve been seeing anyone. It’s not a creepy question. Just a summation of the fact that we don’t know much of each other’s lives after he left town.

“Not now,” I tell him. “Dated a guy I met at the academy in Burien, but things didn’t work out. He took a job in Mesa, and I just don’t do well with heat.”

“A true Pacific Northwest girl.”

I drink more beer. “That’s me.”