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walking.
    “When?” he asked.
    He placed a finger up against his open ear, pushing the phone closer to his head. “I can barely hear you.”
    I watched as confusion, then pain, crossed his expression. “Tell me where he is again.” He glanced around frantically. I jumped to my feet and brought him a pad of paper and pen.
    With the barest of glances to thank me, he took the pen and made his way back to the table to set the paper down. He fought to cradle his cell phone between his shoulder and ear. The corners of his eyes crinkled, but not with happiness. With his jaw set, he scribbled notes, swallowing hard as he did so. He made a couple of unintelligible noises, probably to assure the person on the other end of the phone that he was taking down all the information.
    Finally, he stood straight. “Are you sure you don’t need me tonight?” He waited, nodding with what looked like resignation. “All right. First thing tomorrow, then. You take care of yourself until I get there.”
    He hung up, dropped the phone onto the tabletop, and covered his eyes with one hand for a silent moment. From upside down, I read what he’d written: G OOD S HEPHERD H OSPITAL, ROOM 350 .
    I’d never heard of Good Shepherd Hospital.
    “What happened?” I asked.
    His hand lowered from his brow to his chin. He stroked his late-in-the-day stubble. “You remember Bill and Erma?”
    I did. I’d met them several months earlier when Gav and I had visited their Loudoun County winery. They’d been kind and welcoming to me, despite the fact that years ago, their daughter had been engaged to Gav. Before the marriage could take place, however, Jennifer had become the Maryland Murderer’s final victim.
    Bill and Erma had made the effort to remain close with Gav, and treated him like the son they’d never had. I knew it was their way to hold onto their daughter’s memory.
    “Bill suffered a stroke this afternoon.” Gav tapped the notes he’d scribbled. “He’s stable now but the prognosis is unclear.”
    “You’ll go,” I said. I didn’t phrase it as a question.
    He nodded, staring across the room. I could tell he wasn’t seeing anything at all. “Erma says she’s doing all right. The doctors assure her that he’s in good hands, but she’s staying with him tonight anyway.”
    “She wants to watch over him herself. I understand.”
    Gav’s eyes met mine. “You would know something about that, wouldn’t you?”
    I reached out and touched his arm. “I can’t get away while the sequester is on—while the Saardiscans are here.”
    He put his hand over mine. “I know. I’ll inform my team leader, then head out there in the morning.”
    I remembered taciturn, watchful Bill. Where Erma had been warm and eager to connect with me, Bill had held back. I didn’t blame him. “I hope he’s all right,” I said.
    Gav gave my hand a squeeze, but didn’t say a word.
    *   *   *
    When my alarm went off in the morning, I was wrapped around Gav’s warm body. My arm encircled his waist, my left leg draped over his. I blinked myself awake, pulled away, and shut off the radio. As I got out of bed, I turned, noticing that Gav hadn’t moved. He was still on his back, one arm beneath his head, eyes wide open as he stared at the ceiling.
    “Did you get any sleep at all?” I asked.
    “Some.”
    “Are you okay?” I asked. If I was being honest with myself, I’d have to admit that I was wondering if last night’s phone call was bringing back memories of his life with Jennifer. I wondered if Erma reaching out to Gav was reminiscent of when the older couple had reached out to him at their daughter’s death. Whatever Gav was going through had to be hard for him. There wasn’t much I could do beyond letting him grieve in his own way and to be as supportive as I could until he found his way back to me.
    “I will be,” he said.
    “I know.”
    “It’s just . . .” He bolstered himself up on one elbow to face me. In his rumpled