Mark’s hand froze on a cardboard box. “What did Stephanie say?”
“That if you came around, I shouldn’t let you touch the blue box.”
For a second, his face changed.
“This isn’t the time to make emotional choices.”
Then he laughed softly. “She was sick.”
“She was scared.”
“Of me?”
“You tell me.”
He glanced toward the relatives in the living room, then lowered his voice.
“Leave old pain buried, Fiona.”
“She was sick.”
***
The next morning, I made beef stew because it was the only meal I knew I wouldn’t ruin. I put it in one of Mom’s plastic containers and drove back to my mother’s house.
The first thing I noticed was that Victor’s shelter was empty.
The blanket was folded. The coffee cans were gone. Even the stack of firewood had been lined up neatly.
“Victor?” I called.
“Fiona.”
I turned.
