George said, “Didn’t have to come, did you? Permissions, all that. Do what you want, I said. ‘Course I never thought you’d get it made at all.”
“We had to do it.” Colby lowered his tea without taking a sip, cradling china in graceful fingers. In cloud-etched afternoon light he was lovelier than ever: thin but strong. “It’s a story that needs to be told. And we also had to come. I couldn’t not—I know you said not to bother you, but as a writer—I thought you’d want to know. I want to be respectful.”
“Huh. You’re here.” But antique flint grew more interested. “But you knew all that. And you came anyway.”
“Thank you for agreeing to see us.”
“Huh,” George grumbled again.
Silence hovered, not exactly tense but afraid to disturb a possible truce. Jason drank his own tea. Winced as his chair
