“This Friday,” Mac said. “Five days.”
He was reading Ruth’s email over her shoulder at the kitchen table and she felt the shift in his posture, the specific alertness of a man recalibrating a timeline.
“Five days,” she said.
“How do you feel about that.”
She thought about it honestly. A month ago the answer would have been different. A week ago, even. But sitting here in her kitchen on a Sunday morning with the settlement signed and Dave measuring his future bedroom with a tape measure he had found in the hall closet, the answer was simple.
“Ready,” she said. “I’m ready.”
Mac looked at her face. Then he nodded once and picked up his coffee.
From down the hallway: “The room is three point two metres by four point one. That’s within acceptable parameters.”
Mac and Cloe both looked to
