The move took three weekends.
Not because he had so many things — the penthouse was full of furniture that belonged to the building more than to him, the accumulated neutral taste of a professional space that had been maintained rather than inhabited. What he actually owned, distinct from what he occupied, was less than she'd expected and more revealing: the books, which were many and not organised by any logic she could decode but which he knew the location of precisely; the Eduardo photograph; a set of tools in a leather roll that turned out to be watchmaking tools, which she filed under things she hadn't known and wanted to know more about; clothes that were fewer than the wardrobe implied; and the rock.
The rock he carried himself, in his coat pocket, on the first day.
He didn't exp
