Page 19 of The Wright Man

"Still standing. Which is more than I can say for me some days."

His brow twitched, just a little. "You got people now. You're not alone in that place."

I nodded. Drank.

"Seen the photos," I said after a beat. "You've been busy."

He smiled, proud. "You know my girls. Always moving. Can't keep up. I just take the pictures and stay out the way."

"They're thriving," I said. "Even Bella."

He chuckled. "Especially Bella. That girl's got fire."

"She always did."

The silence settled again. Not heavy, just... full.

Then I asked it. The real reason I crossed the street. The thing I'd been carrying since the moment I saw the porch, since the moment I saw her in every corner of my mother's house.

"How is she, Cap?"

His eyes didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't need to ask who I meant.

He just took a breath. Slow. Careful. Like the answer was fragile.

Then he looked me dead in the eye and told me the truth.

"She's... tired," he said finally. "But good tired. The kind that means you're building something. And smart-mouthed as ever."

I nodded, eyes locked on a water ring left on the table. "And... the husband?"

He raised a brow. "That what we're callin' him?"

I cracked a dry smile. "You tell me."

He didn't answer right away, just swirled the last of his beer like it might reveal the rest.

"He's still around," he said. "Still smilin' in pictures, makin' himself useful. The usual show. But I watch my girls, son. I don't just look at 'em. And lately..."

"Yeah?"

"She don't laugh the same," he said. "Don't move the same either. Like she's carrying something, but don't trust nobody to help her hold it. You know how she is. Strong. Smart. Stubborn as hell."

I could tell he was holding back, that there was more going on with her, things that weren't his place to tell. I looked away, throat tight.

"She still cookin' too much for one person?" I asked. "Still burnin' the first pancake every time?"

That earned a real laugh. "Every damn time. Can't flip fast to save her life."

I smiled into my beer. "She used to blame the pan."

"She still does."

He leaned forward, eyes soft now. "You thinking about seeing her?"

I didn't answer. Not really because I didn't know—but because I did.

I wasn't ready.