She was gone. Her clothes were missing from his closet. The dresser drawers where she’d stored her underwear and T-shirts were empty. A cake of soap, still in its wrapper, sat on the shelf in his unused shower, and the only toiletries in the medicine chest belonged to him. His legs felt heavy as he entered Jack’s old bedroom. Nita had mentioned that Blue worked in here to take advantage of the light coming through the corner windows, but not even a tube of paint remained.

He made his way back downstairs. In her haste to leave, she’d forgotten her sweatshirt, and she’d left a book in the living room, but even the cherry yogurt she always kept in the refrigerator had vanished. He ended up in the living room, staring at the flickering light of the television but seeing nothing. He’d thrown the dice and lost.

His cell rang. He hadn’t gotten around to taking off his coat, and he pulled the phone from his pocket. It was April, calling to check up on him, and as he heard the concern in her voice, he dropped his forehead into his hand.

“She’s not here, Mom,” he said unsteadily. “She ran.”

Eventually, he fell asleep on the couch with QVC droning in the background. He awakened late the next morning with a stiff neck and an acid stomach. The house was still cold, and rain pummeled the roof. He stumbled into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. It burned all the way down.

The rest of his life stretched in front of him. He dreaded the drive back to the airport. All those miles with nothing to do but count the missteps he’d made. The Stars were playing the Steelers on Sunday. He had film to study, a strategy to plan, and he didn’t care about any of it.

He forced himself into the shower, but he couldn’t summon the will to shave. His empty eyes stared back at him from the mirror. This summer he’d found his family, but now he’d lost his soul mate. He wrapped the towel around his waist and drifted blindly into the bedroom.

Blue sat cross-legged in the middle of his bed.

He faltered.

“Hey, you,” she said softly.