Standing at his kitchen counter, Kilburn wrestled with the box of cornflakes, trying to find the seam to open the new bag. He grudgingly acknowledged to himself that his lack of sleep contributed to his impatience with the cereal box and every other aspect of the frantic pre-work and school preparations. He had called the ICU at two, four, and six A.M., checking on Parminder Singh’s progress, and was relieved to hear each time that she was still alive.

Kilburn’s ten-year-old nephew Matt sat at the counter watching his uncle with obvious amusement. “You’re not a morning guy, are you Uncle Graham?” he asked matter-of-factly.

“Where do you hear these expressions?” Kilburn asked as he stabbed a hole in the side of the bag of cornflakes with a kitchen knife. “But to answer your question: No, mornings are not my strong suit.”

“What’s a strong suit?” Matt asked.

“Something you’re best at,” Kilburn grunted. He glanced at his nephew with a half grin. “For example, Matt, one of your strong suits is irritating your uncle.”

“I guess. But you make it so easy. I could irritate you in a weak suit.” Matt giggled, which made his uncle laugh.

“Where’s your sister?” Kilburn asked.

“You know, girl stuff.” Matt rolled his eyes, and then pantomimed primping his own hair and dolling up his face.

“I hear you.” Kilburn had watched his niece evolve from a six-year-old who refused to brush her hair or wear a dress to an eight-year-old who spent fifteen minutes in front of the mirror, doing and redoing her hair every morning. “Eat up, Matt, we have to get going very soon.”

“Uncle Graham, why do you hang on to this house?”

Kilburn was caught off guard by his nephew’s precocious question. “You want me to live on the street?” he said, dodging the issue. “That would make sleepovers way colder in the winter, wouldn’t it?”

But Matt wasn’t so easily dissuaded. “Mom says it’s because you think Aunt Michelle’s coming back.”

“I forgot about your mom’s ability to read minds,” Kilburn grumbled. He had made the mistake of telling his sister that he had bought—but had not moved into—a new duplex in the ever-trendy Kitsilano neighborhood because it had offered the perfect fit for Michelle and him. Near to work, the beach, and the hip restaurants and shops of Fourth Avenue, the duplex had enough space for his niece and nephew. And the place could have easily housed the two kids of his own that he had once thought were in their near future. After Michelle moved out, he convinced himself that he didn’t have time to go through the hassle of moving. He refused to admit that the hope of Michelle’s return kept him in the four-bedroom house, but his nephew now had him wondering.