Edmund’s POV
I did not go home on Tuesday.
I told myself it was the Henderson meeting running late, and the meeting did run late, that part was true. But meetings had always run late and I had always come home regardless, had always arrived at some point in the evening to the house and the dinner and Rebecca’s particular quality of being there. I had a fifteen-year habit of returning and I had broken it on Tuesday by going to Rose’s apartment instead and sitting on her sofa with a glass of whisky I did not particularly want, watching her move around her kitchen, and telling myself this was simply where I needed to be.
Rose had been glad to see me. She was usually glad to see me, Rose, she had a way of answering the door that communicated welcome before she had said a word, a specific
