Page 71 of Blind Prophet

Yes, I wore this back when we were at that new stage, where all it took was one look and we’d start taking off our clothes—back when times were good.

“It’s pure luck it’s here at this house and not in New York.”

“Do you still own our brownstone?”

“Sold it about a year after you…”

My throat squeezes.

“I couldn’t stay there anymore.”

“I understand.” I may have been the one to physically leave our marriage, but he emotionally abdicated months earlier, and even with him coming home at night, I found the space unbearable.

“Who were you talking on the phone with?” His question catches me off guard. “I went down the hall to check on you and heard you speaking.”

“My friend. Sophia.” I sit down on a bar stool, facing him.

“The friend you did not move to California for.”

“Right.” I narrow my eyes at him, but really, it’s simply annoying how easily he takes charge of a conversation. “Are you concerned that someone sabotaged your helicopter?”

He turns his back to me, pouring boiling water into a mug. “Not particularly.”

“Why?”

He opens a cabinet and closes it. Then he opens a second cabinet, then a third.

“What’re you looking for?”

“Tea.” He opens a deep drawer and lifts a wooden box with a lid. He slides it to me and then walks across the kitchen to another cabinet, where he retrieves honey.

He leans across the counter from me while I select mint tea.

The screen on his phone lights up with notifications, but it doesn’t vibrate.

“You don’t need to check those?”

“You’re my priority this weekend.”

It would’ve been nice for that to have happened just once when we were married.

“Who do you think did it?” I ask, keeping the conversation on track.

One brow rises, considering. “You mean, the helicopter?”

I nod.

“A competitor is conceivable. The simplest answer is usually correct. Disgruntled employee. Or it’s not sabotage at all and someone erred and didn’t do a thorough inspection.”

“You seem so glib. Like it doesn’t matter.”

“I hire competent people. They’ll figure it out and resolve the issue. Ten years from now, I won’t care about the details of the crash site investigation. But decades from now, I’ll remember this weekend.”

“Why is that?” I stir my tea, cautious…and hopeful.

“I think you know.”

“Hmm.” But I don’t. Not for sure.

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