20
“I don't know, Shawn.” Bob Stuart was shaking his head. “I’m trying. She still doesn't want to see me.” He wouldn't meet Shawn's eyes, choosing to hunch forward and fiddle with his substantial key ring instead.
“I asked Christine to call her. She might be able to get her to come around.” Shawn tapped his pencil against his desk, eraser side down. He waited for Bob to look up, but Bob concentrated on switching his key ring from hand to hand, methodically going through the keys one by one, as if mentally cataloguing them. He did not look up.
“I don't think she's going to change her mind. She’s so evasive.”
“At the very least, the two of you need to meet and talk,” Shawn argued. “You can't just throw in the towel.”
Bob finally looked up at him. In the slanted morning light of November
