Rich sat tapping the steering wheel. No lights shone in the house. Either his mother had gone to bed or was out, but he couldn’t see her car so chances were she wasn’t home. Pity he couldn’t persuade Saffie to accompany him, though it would raise questions if their mother saw them turn up together. If he called his sister now, she would refuse. One look at the sprawling house and he was no longer sure she had it so wrong—the dusty ill-used room at the hotel a more inviting prospect.
Shouldn’t his time here grow easier? Shouldn’t each day passing make this less like a prison and more like home? Assumption and hope didn’t seem to be working.
His place of escape—the sauna—conjured images of Ethan. Light from the house beckoned as he drove up, but the problem was the car. Not even his father
