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Maybe the store had been out of green.

Maybe Nate was at the diner, talking to old men.

Or maybe he was talking to young men. Men who were full of life and attractive.

Leo floated into the sitting room, fuming. What did it matter what Nate was doing?

Leo didn’t need him.

He’d haunted this house for fifty years without Nate. He’d been alone in it for a long time. Time never used to matter. He’d been fine.

He hadn’t minded.

He tried to remember not minding.

It was proving difficult.

He went and stood at the kitchen table, because that was where the drawing was, and looked at two empty outlines waiting to be colored.

The house was very quiet. It had always been this quiet. It was fine.

Noise on the gravel.

Leo was at the front window before he’d decided to move.

The moment the truck moved into view, Leo went through the wall and flew down the drive. By the time Nate had the engine off, Leo was waiting by the driver’s side window.

“What took you so long?”

Nate opened the door with a bemused expression. “Hello to you too.”

“You were gone forever! What were you doing?”

Nate reached back across the seat and came out with a shopping bag and a cup with a lid on it. He held the bag up.

Leo looked at it. Then at the cup.

Diner coffee.

“You went to the diner.”

“I was hungry.” Nate shut the truck door with his hip. “And people wanted to talk. I’m not rude, Leo, I don’t walk out on people.”

“What did they want?”

“To know what I needed paint for.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That I was repainting something.” Nate peeled the lid off the cup and drank. “Lots of stuff around here needs repainting anyway.” Nate smiled at him. “I didn’t know you’d mind so much if I took a little longer.”

Leo opened his mouth. Closed it. “Well,” he said, finally. “I do mind. You have obligations around here. And you left food out. It attracted wild animals.”

“Wild animals?”

“A fox.”

“Ah. Did it wreck anything?”