And I had an intense desire to talk to this woman. On our drive to Point Reyes, I planned on telling her everything I hadn’t told her yet—about Bob and Ingrid and Sam, about growing up in Mill Valley. I would tell her how I’d never gotten over my brother’s death and how I hadn’t talked for two years, and then I would tell her about my best friend, Cal, and how much he’d meant to me. I’d tell her how I’d let him down, and how I’d let myself down too.

But the part that surprised me the most? I wanted, more than anything, to play guitar for her.

We were standing at the sink doing the dishes, and I guess I’d zoned out because October nudged me and said, “What cha thinkin’, Lincoln?”

It was all I could do to piece words together. “You. Last night. That madrone tree outside the window.” Diego stuck his whole head into the sink and tried to lick remnants of scrambled egg from the plates. “This dog. Coffee. You in my T-shirt.” I was used to vacillating between numbness and regret and was shocked at the encouraging emotions I was experiencing. “It feels nice. Good. I don’t know.”

The door opened behind us and Rae walked in with a handful of mail, her laptop, and the Ziploc bag of nuts and raisins she was always carrying around. I’d forgotten it was a workday and was startled to see her, but not as startled as she was to see me. There I was, shirtless at 9 o’clock in the morning, standing beside my boss, who was wearing what looked like tangled sheets. Our arms were touching at the sink, and there was a fluency to our body language that we hadn’t had time to adjust.

I stepped to my right to create some distance, but it was too late.

“Morning,” October said to Rae, nonchalant and unapologetic.

Rae didn’t say a word, but she gave me a wicked side-eye when October went back to the dishes. Then she set the mail on the counter and started sorting through it.

“Joe makes an award-winning cappuccino,” October said. “Joe, make Rae a cappuccino.”

“I don’t want a cappuccino,” Rae said.

She walked around me and grabbed a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge. Then she sat down at the kitchen table, opened her computer, set her snacks beside it, and began running through the day’s schedule with October, all the while picking raisins out of the bag and plopping them into her mouth. Evidently, October had a daylong meeting at Ribble she’d forgotten about, and then she had to make an appearance at a cocktail party at the gallery that represented her later that night.

“I can’t go to a cocktail party tonight,” October sighed. “There’s going to be too many people there. And I have plans.”

“You have to. Your name was on the invitation,” Rae told her. “Besides, you promised Thomas. Go get a shower, yeah? We need to leave in forty-five minutes.”