The question hung in the warm air of the car, unanswered for a long second while a yellow school bus squealed to a stop in front of us.
“He has a lot of projects in the city right now,” I said, smoothing down the shoulder of his coat.
“Is he going to be gone tonight too?” Noah asked.
“Things will change soon, Noah,” I said, looking him in the eyes. “I promise you that.”
He gave me a small, quiet nod, squeezed his backpack one last time, and opened the passenger door. I watched his red hood disappear into the crowd of children before I shifted the car into drive.
The local diner on the corner of Elm and Fifth was crowded at noon, the air thick with the smell of fried onions and old vinyl booths. Sarah was already sitting in the corner, her coat draped over the back of the bench and a half-empty water glass in front of her.
She did not ask how I was doing when I slid into the booth opposite her. She simply watched me untie my wool scarf and lay it on the seat.
“You look like you did not sleep,” Sarah said, pushing the paper menu toward me.
“I slept enough,” I said, choosing my words with the slow precision that kept my voice from cracking.
The waitress set down two garden salads and a small pitcher of dressing without speaking. I picked up my fork, but the food on the plate seemed entirely flat.
“I found something in the car this morning,” I said, reaching into my pocket.
I placed the gold cufflink on the paper placemat between our plates. Sarah looked down at the engraved initials, her fork stopping halfway to her mouth.
“That is not Jason’s,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“No,” I said. “And he left his house keys on the kitchen counter this morning because he was in a hurry to leave after his phone buzzed.”
Sarah reached into her leather handbag and pulled out a small, white card, sliding it across the table until it rested next to the cufflink.
“His name is Arthur Vance,” Sarah said. “He does seventy-five dollars an hour, and he does not make mistakes.”
