Nathan stopped rolling a sock. He rubbed his palms together, the sound dry and whispery in the narrow hallway.
“We talked about this, Caleb,” Nathan said, his voice dropping into that smooth, quiet register he used for budget discussions. “This is just how my family does vacations, buddy. It is an old tradition.”
“But we are your family,” Caleb said, his shoulders rising slightly.
“My parents have a very specific routine,” Nathan said, tucking the socks into the corner of the leather case. “They have had it since before you were born. It is easier for everyone if we do not disrupt their space.”
I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching the back of Nathan’s linen shirt. My watch strap felt hot against my skin, and I moved it up a fraction of an inch to let the air in.
“Would it hurt to call Linda and ask?” I asked softly. “Just to see if they have room for the kids this time?”
