Nobody said anything about his impromptu late grocery run after “Emma” had left. Donna and Carly ate the ice cream he bought after dismissing Marcelline, though he’d blindly grabbed a brand they never ate. The conversation fell thin and strained as the strangeness of the past days seeped back into the foreground of everyone’s thoughts. Carly disappeared into her room. Donna wouldn’t look at him and went up to take a bath. She was asleep, curled tight against the farthest edge of the mattress by the time he came to bed. It was a long night.

Jonathan gave up trying to sleep once the sky lightened from black to gray. He waited until seven to text Owen. Do you want it or not?

After half an hour, he had to send another message or throw the phone against the wall. Going once . . . Going twice . . .

Owen let that hang in the air for another ten minutes before he called. “Are we in a hurry?”

Jonathan had expected him to be like this, straightaway pissing a perimeter around the exchange. But the urge to throw the phone didn’t lessen. “I’m not having any more conversations about this. It’s a simple yes or no question.”

“You think this is simple?”

Jonathan thought he heard something like the clink of silverware, a muted whir, maybe cars going past where Owen was. Outdoor café? He wished he knew more about exactly where that might be.

Jonathan wanted this too much. He wanted to be out of limbo, wanted it right up to treading on the line of wishing he’d never seen the painting at all. But nearly just as much as everything else, he wanted to be done dealing with Owen. Jonathan wasn’t good around him. It was embarrassing. Owen made his hands go clammy.

He wiped them, each in quick turn, on his jeans. The aggressive silence routine was getting old. “Okay. Tell the Anningers I’m sorry it didn’t work—”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, they want it.”

“Were you going to let me know that at some point?”

“Of course.”

“When?”

“When I got around to it.” Owen was maddeningly mild. “You realize I exist between our conversations and do other things sometimes, right?”

Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose and willed himself to get through this phone call without losing it.

Owen continued. “So, yes. They want it and they’ve made the arrangements. Same type of setup as before—some cash up front, then a wire transfer after authentication. Although I still have a problem with calling it simple.”

Jonathan hoped Owen took everything in this world that he had a problem with and shoved it up his ass, but didn’t say so. His pulse sped up. “Great. How much?”

“Five million. So, minus the two hundred and fifty thousand you took four years ago, four point seven five.”

“That’s bullshit. It was seven and a half before.”