I let the silence stretch for a minute, and then said, “That it’s not fair?”

He rubbed his hands over his face. “Fair doesn’t matter. Fair is an excuse. Expecting fair is pointless.” He inhaled and took out his notebook. “We need a plan. Whoever she is, she’ll come back, and feeling sorry for myself won’t fix that.”

“But you’re allowed to feel sorry for yourself, Gabriel. To be angry. To be frustrated. It isn’t fair. She was gone, and now, if she’s back, you’re allowed—”

“It’s not productive.”

I took the pen and pad from his hands, and set them on my lap. “You don’t need to be productive for the next thirty seconds. Tell me how you feel.”

Panic sparked in his eyes, sheer and wild panic, and I was about to give back his pen and paper, return his security blankets, and let him do whatever he needed to get past this. But then he blurted, “It feels like punishment. My life is almost—It’s everything I wanted and more, and this feels like punishment. Like someone is saying I don’t deserve this, certainly don’t deserve more, and…” A shake of his head. “I’m babbling.”

“You’re allowed to.”

“When clients whine that the charges against them aren’t fair, I lose patience. The charges are a problem, which we must focus on fixing. Complaining about the unfairness of it is counterproductive.”

“There’s nothing wrong with taking a moment to whine before you focus on the problem.”

“When Rose said she’d handle it, I was glad. I wanted that. I wanted to just say yes, please, do that. And it felt like cowardice.”

I reached to take his hand and then stopped, remembering what had happened in the fun house. But he looked over, meeting my gaze, and then took my hand, firmly and deliberately, wrapping his fingers around it as he said, “It’s all right.”

He didn’t mean it was all right to hold his hand. He meant that whatever I saw—whatever memories this might drag back to the surface—that was all right.

He leaned over, his lips going to my ear as he said, “Thank you. For everything.” He shifted until his face was right in front of mine and again said, “Thank you, Olivia.”

I moved to kiss him, just kiss him, don’t think about it, can’t think about it, brush my lips against his. If it was quick, I could say it was nothing, just a peck between friends. I leaned in, and he moved forward and—

The gate squealed open. Gabriel only eased back and let out a low growl of annoyance.

“Yes, Ida,” he said. “We’ve returned. However—”

He stopped, and I looked over to see the woman from this morning.

Gabriel’s lips parted. “Sea—”

He stopped himself. But I knew. Seeing his expression, I knew.