He reached out and tapped the screen of my phone, which lay face up on the desk.

“Call her.”

I did not touch the phone.

“I have work to finish, Graham,” I said.

“Work?” he mocked.

“What work?”

“Organizing the PTA bake sale?”

He picked up his suit jacket from the chair.

“Get it done, Jocelyn.”

“If I hear from my mother tonight and she is still upset, we are going to have a very different conversation.”

He turned on his heel and walked out of the office.

He left the door wide open.

I heard his footsteps fade down the hallway toward the master bedroom.

A few moments later, the sound of water running in his bathroom echoed through the vents.

I sat in the quiet office for a long time.

The air conditioner hummed, cooling the room to a crisp sixty-eight degrees.

Outside, the sky over Highland Park was turning a bruised shade of purple as the sun went down.

I reached under the leather blotter and pulled the default notice back into the light.

I picked up my pen.