I dragged a hand over my face and went after her.
She heard my boots on the gravel and turned, her expression already guarded. I stopped a few feet from her, and for a second I didn't know how to start. Which was stupid, because I'd been rehearsing this in my head since three in the morning.
"Listen," I said.
"Okay."
"Yesterday was—" I stopped. Started again. "I've been in my head. I know that. And I know you've noticed." I looked at her, then past her, at the house. "Seeing Ruth. It just—it reminded me of some things I'd been... letting slide."
Olivia didn't say anything. She held her clipboard against her chest and watched me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"This whole thing," I said, gesturing vaguely at the space between us. "It's gotten—I've let it get—" I exhaled. "You're Ryan's wife, Olivia. He was my best friend. And I know what happened, I know what he did, but he's still—he's still Ryan. And I was the one who told him he was being an idiot. I was the one who had all the answers." I shook my head. "I can't turn around and?—"
"I understand," she said.
She said it quietly, without heat. Just two words, clean and flat.
I looked at her. "I just think we need to?—"
"Ben." She said my name the way you'd stop someone from stepping into traffic — quiet, no heat behind it. "I said I understand."
She didn't look angry. That was the thing. She just looked like a woman who had done this math before and already knew what it added up to.
She reached down and picked up her car keys from the table.
"I'm going to drive out to the cabinet shop," she said. "Make sure they pull the right order this time. It's two hours but it's better than waiting ten days and getting the wrong thing again."
"Liv—"
"I'll be back before dark." She tucked the clipboard under her arm. "Tell Walt the uppers are ready to go."
She walked past me to her car, unhurried, and I stood there and let her.
The engine turned over. The tires crunched over gravel. And then she was gone, down the driveway, through the trees, out onto Route 9 heading west.
I stood in the clearing for a long moment, staring at the empty space where her car had been.
Collins appeared from around the side of the house, took one look at my face, and walked quietly back the way he'd come.
Smart kid.
Olivia called at four.
She'd walked into the millwork shop, found the guy who'd transposed the order numbers, and stood there while he personally pulled the correct spec sheet and walked it to the floor. Right finish, right dimensions. Loading first thing tomorrow, she'd make sure of it. She was staying until the truck was packed.
I told the crew at the end of the day, when we were cleaning up and the light had gone flat and gray through the windows of the house.
Collins stopped sweeping. "She just... drove two hours and walked in there?"
"Yeah."
He shook his head, grinning. "That's kind of terrifying."
"Good terrifying," Walt said, from the corner where he was coiling his extension cord with the slow, methodical patience of a man who'd learned not to rush things. "Woman knows how to get something done."
Frank didn't say anything for a moment. He was packing up his tool belt, methodical as always, unhooking each pouch and rolling it flat. Then he looked up at me.
"She drive out there because of the cabinets," he said, "or because of you?"
