Anouk knocked before she could turn the visit into another walk round the block. Orson opened the door wearing the same worried expression she had seen in her own reflection, which was an unkind comfort.
“I’ve brought the container back,” she said.
He looked at her empty hands.
“No, I haven’t. I’ve left it by the sink.”
“Then we’ll have to manage without it.”
She smiled, and he stood aside. The house smelled of toast. One plate waited on the kitchen table, with a knife laid across it and a second slice cooling beside the first. He had not set a place for her. She was grateful for that, and hurt by it, and understood that both feelings belonged to her.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Would you like something?”
“In a minute.”
He nodded. She stayed on the kitchen step, one hand against the frame, looking at…
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