Next to it was the small digital voice recorder Lydia had provided.

I pressed the record button.

The tiny red light began to blink.

“Harrison,” I said, keeping my voice gentle. “Do you want to swing?”

“Swing!” he yelled, pointing toward the empty swings.

I lifted him into the rubber bucket seat and pushed him gently.

His laughter was loud and sweet, cutting through the sound of the crashing waves below.

I kept my eyes on the entrance of the gravel parking lot.

The minutes crawled by.

The wind grew colder, carrying the scent of incoming rain.

At eleven o’clock, a dark gray rental sedan pulled into the lot.

The car stopped near the edge of the gravel.

The engine died.

The driver’s door opened, and Julian stepped out.

He wore a tailored overcoat, completely out of place in the rugged coastal park.

He took off his sunglasses and looked around the empty grounds.

His eyes locked onto me.

He began to walk across the damp grass, his leather shoes sinking slightly into the earth.

With every step, the distance between us closed.