Epilogue
Six months later
It’s quarter after five on a Saturday evening and Alan is leaning over a foil-wrapped roast in a pan that rests on the open oven door, waiting for the meat thermometer to register, when his cell phone on the counter pings with an incoming text. He glances at the screen, which displays a one-word message from Jim.
Here.
A moment later, the thermometer beeps. Alan glances at the temperature—the meat still has a ways to go—then shoves the pan back into the oven and shuts the door. As he stands, an ache in his lower back reminds him he isn’t as young as he once was. Absently he rubs at the base of his spine. He should probably take something…
Then the doorbell rings.
His back is forgotten. The roast, too. Picking up a tea towel off the side of the sink, Alan wip
