Saturday morning arrives with unseasonably warm October sunshine.
I wake up in the lake house for the last time, surrounded by boxes and the strange emptiness of a space I'm leaving behind. Viktor's already up—I can smell coffee from downstairs—and the moving truck is scheduled to arrive at nine.
My phone shows six-thirty. Too early to be awake on a weekend, but sleep stopped being reliable weeks ago.
I shower, dress in jeans and an old BU t-shirt, and head downstairs.
Viktor's at the kitchen counter with coffee and what looks like a detailed security briefing. He glances up when I enter.
"Moving day," he says. "You are ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be."
He pours me coffee without asking, adds cream the way I like it. After weeks of this routine, he knows.
"James and Keiko will ha
