Graham frowned. “You want Harrison to meet her?”
“In a monitored setting,” Thorne said. “With agents nearby.”
Julian gripped his crutch. “No.”
Harrison turned to him.
“She already took you from me once,” Julian said. “I don’t want her near you.”
Harrison’s voice softened. “Son, for two years you survived because other people were brave when they were afraid. Martha. Arthur. Now it’s my turn.”
The next evening, Harrison returned to his apartment wearing a recording device beneath his shirt.
Deborah was waiting in the living room with two suitcases.
Not packed for a future move. Packed now.
Her face brightened when she saw him, but the brightness was strained.
“There you are,” she said. “I was so worried.”
Harrison glanced at the luggage. “Going somewhere?”
“We are.”
He set his keys down slowly. “Are we?”
“I moved the Vancouver timeline up. There are complications at the company, and I think it would be healthiest if we left tonight.”
“Complications?”
“Graham is stirring things up. He’s always resented my place in your life.”
Harrison walked deeper into the room. Every lamp was on. Papers had been removed from drawers. A shredder near the desk was warm.
“What place is that, Deborah?”
She smiled. “The place of the person who stayed.”
“My son would have stayed if he could.”
The room changed.
Deborah’s smile did not disappear. It hardened.
“Harrison,” she said carefully, “you’ve had a difficult week.”
“Have I?”
“You’re vulnerable around the anniversary. You imagine things.”
“Like what?”
“Like forgiveness from the dead.”
Harrison’s pulse pounded in his ears. “That’s an interesting phrase.”
She stepped closer. “I know you went to see Graham.”
