The two weeks of space had a texture to them.
Not empty — the word space implied emptiness and it wasn't empty. It was full of the specific charged quality of a situation that had been set down without being resolved, the way a conversation that needed finishing felt present even in the silence around it.
I knew Marcus was at Davis's.
I knew Isabelle was in the Tribeca apartment.
I knew the wedding was five weeks away and the venue was booked and the dress had been altered and fifty people had made their arrangements.
I knew all of this the way I knew weather — not because I was seeking the information but because I was inside the world that contained it and the world offered it up regardless.
I went to work.
Both locations. Every morning. The ordinary machinery of a life that was m
