His voice was too sweet, like a pie someone oversugared to hide spoiled fruit.

The chair creaked as I leaned back and gave him a long look. “Well, I’m not dead yet.”

He laughed—that hollow bark—and reached for my hand across the table. “I just want to reconnect. Be here for you.”

Funny. He hadn’t been here for me when I fell off the porch steps last spring and needed a ride to the clinic. Or when the hip surgery happened. Or when the roof leaked during the hurricane and I had to patch it myself, cussing all the way. But now here he was with tea and a smile like a man who thinks he’s three moves ahead.

The grandfather clock struck three in the parlor. That old thing always ran five minutes fast. Evan flinched a little at the sound. Just a hair, but I caught it. He’s nervous. Good.