Aaron brushed a curl from her temple. "We're talking about grown-up things. You don't have to fix them."
"I can fix some things. I fixed my zipper today."
He smiled despite himself. "You're a genius. Sleep."
He turned out the light. In the hallway Simone waited with her arms crossed over the camel cardigan she had not taken off, as if taking it off would concede that the day had ended and the night had begun.
They sat at the kitchen table — the same table — with two glasses of water neither of them drank. The house ticked and settled. Outside, Charlotte's suburban dark pressed soft against the windows.
Aaron began.
"Fourteen months. Start at the funeral coffee and walk me forward. Dates when you can. Lies when you must name them as lies. I want the architecture."
Simone told him.