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Same answer she gave me on the sofa.

“All right.”

“You mean it?”

“Yeah.”

She studies me. “You promised before.”

“I remember.”

Her shoulders loosen a fraction.

“Okay.”

She carries the glass to the sink and leaves it there.

“I have homework.”

“Tova.”

She turns.

“You did the right thing today.”

“I know.”

There’s enough of Astrid in the answer that I almost laugh.

Tova catches it.

“What?”

I keep my face where it is.

“That was a face.”

“Go do your homework.”

She gives me one last suspicious look and takes the backpack upstairs.

The house goes quiet. The phone sits on the island, and for a while I let it.

I know the boy’s name.

I know Tova told me not to use it.

I know I gave her my word.

None of that makes the number difficult to find.

His father owns a local business. The website has a photograph, an office line, and a direct number underneath it. Same last name. Same eyes.

I call the direct number. He answers on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Colt Riley.”