“How far along are you?”
“Six months. You’re home. That’s all that matters.”
A glass clicked on the counter. A man came out of the kitchen with water in his hand, charcoal henley, dark jeans, thirty-five, Black, the neighbor from two doors down whose name Evan knew because they had once shared a snowblower. Darren Ellis. He stopped when he saw the uniform, and the stop was wrong. A neighbor who had come to fix a sink did not stop like that.
“Man, good to see you again.”
Evan heard the again.