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I wipe my face and reach for the phone.

For a second, I almost call Paul.

I don’t. That would be international begging, and it’s also not the point.

You’ve got six months, buddy. Figure it out.

I scroll until I find the right contact. The one person I know will give me no sympathy and good advice.

My thumb hovers.

There’s so much I haven’t told her. So much I thought would become easier if I could just get far enough away.

The phone rings three times.

“Clint?”

I close my eyes.

“Mom.” My voice breaks before I can stop it. “I need your help with something.”

Chapter forty-four

Six Months... and Four Days

Paul

“It’s a lot of work,” I say. “You think you’re up to it?”

Bryce looks across the courtyard toward the back staircase, the cracked walkway, the row of apartment doors waiting for paint, weather stripping, new screens, new everything. The property looks too tired for April, even if the summer heat is trying to find us early.

He turns back to me.

He’s young enough that my first instinct is to distrust his confidence, but there’s nothing careless in the way he holds himself. Tall. Broad. Blond hair a little too long from needing a cut or avoiding one. Work boots, clean T-shirt, hands already marked from actual tools.

“I’m up to it,” he says.

I nod. Simple answer. Good. And I believe him, for some reason.

“I may be hard to reach soon,” I tell him. “Not impossible. Just… inconsistent.”

His eyes flick to me, curious but polite enough not to ask.

“Lenny knows the property better than anyone,” I continue, nodding toward the bungalow beside us. “If you need something and I’m not answering, start with him.”

From the porch, Lenny lifts one arm so dramatically that the ash on his cigarette trembles but doesn’t fall.

“We’ve got this, baby!” he shouts. “You go take your vacation.”

Bryce glances toward him. “That Lenny?”

“That is very much Lenny.”

Lenny blows us a kiss with the hand holding the cigarette, which makes the whole gesture look vaguely hazardous.

“Don’t let him talk you into repairing anything in his apartment without a written list,” I say. “The list will change while you’re standing there.”

Bryce’s mouth shifts like he’s trying not to smile. “Good to know.”