24
Friday afternoon, there was a slight crispness to the air, an assurance that fall was coming, easing into their summertime, soon to rob them of afternoon warmth and evening sun. Quentin left the office early enough to pick up Morgan at school. She’d been back since the previous Monday, brimming with frustration at being “a few days behind on piano” after her hospital stay, but generally content to be elementary-school-popular, having been one of the only kids to stay the night in the hospital.
Quentin waited out front, a small, brown paper sack in his hands, holding two chocolate croissants he’d picked up at the local French bakery. Perhaps ice cream was out of the cards for a while.
As he waited, he checked his phone, finding a small message from Charlotte. Immediately, a smile flic
