"You won't sound like an idiot."
"You don't know that."
"I know you."
She looked at him sideways. "That's either sweet or terrifying. I can't decide which."
"Both, probably."
"Great. Very reassuring." But she was almost smiling. "Can we go to the cemetery? Before we go home?"
"Of course."
The cemetery sat on a quiet road past the hospital, shaded by live oaks that had been there longer than the town itself.
Ronan parked near the entrance and waited in the car while Lila walked between the headstones. She stopped at her father’s grave.
He watched her kneel and place one hand on her father’s headstone. Her lips were moving, but he couldn't hear the words. Didn't need to. Some conversations were private.
She stayed there for a long time. The February sun filtered through the oak branches, casting shifting patterns on the ground around her. A mockingbird sang somewhere nearby, cycling through its borrowed songs.
When she finally stood, she touched the headstone once more in a gesture of farewell, or maybe just connection—and walked back to the car.
Her eyes were red but dry.
"Sorry," she said, getting in. "I know that took a while."
"Don't apologize."
"I told him about the council race. About the verdict. All of it." She stared through the windshield at the cemetery. "I told my dad he was right. About everything. About Warren, about the property records, about all the things he couldn't prove before they killed him."
"Accurate."
"And that you make me feel safe. Which is not something I'm used to." She said it matter-of-factly, like she was reporting the weather. "He would have liked you. He always liked the difficult ones. Said they were more interesting."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is one." She buckled her seatbelt. "Take me home. I'm starving, and Grace dropped off a casserole yesterday that's calling my name."
That evening, they sat on the porch and watched the sun go down.
The casserole had been some kind of beef stew, rich and warm. They'd eaten it with bread from Mae's Bakery and a bottle of wine that Sid had left on their doorstep with a note that just said "Congratulations." No signature. No explanation of what the congratulations were for. That was Sid.
Lila was curled in the chair beside him, a blanket across her lap. The temperature had dropped as the sun set, but neither of them wanted to go inside.
"I've been thinking," she said.
"About?"
"What you're going to do. Now that you're not—" She waved a hand. "Whatever you were."
"A spy. You can say it."
"It sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud."
"It sounds ridiculous because it is ridiculous." He watched a pelican skim low over the water. "I spent twelve years lying for a living. That's not a normal job."
"No. But you could do something else. Mitch is always looking for people. Security consulting. Legitimate work."
