Mason woke at dusk, the way children do when the day has been too large, all at once and suspicious. The house smelled like the grilled cheese Derek had made without asking anyone’s preference. Jonah was on the back steps, visible through the glass, sitting with his elbows on his knees. Lauren was at the table with her hands folded on a manila envelope she had brought up from the basement without being sent again. She had washed her face. The ponytail was redone. Neither repair fooled anyone and both were attempts at respect, so Derek let them stand.
“Hey,” he said. “You slept. It’s still Saturday. You’re home.”
Mason sat up and checked the room the way he checked new gyms, exits first. His hair was crushed on one side. “Did the plane leave?”
“Yes.”
“Without us?”
“Without us.”