“Investigators are being briefed this afternoon,” he said. “Nolan will likely be contacted by end of week.” A pause. “The plea agreement will be reopened.”
Tovia nodded.
“How are you?” she said.
He looked at her for a long moment. With the fifteen years of knowing her in it — all of it, every version of the last decade and a half, every dinner and argument and summer evening and phone call and the six years since a night in the garden when she had almost said something and hadn’t.
“I don’t know yet,” he said. “Ask me in a week.”
She almost smiled. “That’s what you said about Edna.”
“It’s become my standard answer,” he said. “I’m having a lot of weeks like this.”
“Sebastian.” She looked at him directly. “He’s your father. Whatever he did — and what he did is significant and serious a
