Chapter 24 — Sunday Morning
The Carter house at night was different from the Carter house in the evening. Quieter. Settled. The kind of quiet that had texture — Koby's breathing from somewhere at the foot of the guest bed, the distant sound of a television someone had left on low, the specific stillness of a house that was used to holding people. I lay in the dark for a while and thought about the dinner. About Mr. Harrison's direct questions and Zane's steady answers and Mr. Carter's face when Zane said research and didn't flinch from it. About a garden outside a window that someone was learning to tend. About a dog that had been a grandmother's and was now a boy's and slept at the feet of whoever needed it most. I thought about all of it. And then I thought about the hand that had found mine at the window with
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