Once dinner was over, Jason insisted on doing the dishes alone. When he returned to the living room, Ben was leaning against the back of the couch, petting Samson who napped there. Occasionally he still glanced toward the front door. He looked up when Jason entered, almost hopeful, like Tim had snuck in through the kitchen window or something. Then he must have realized his behavior, because he stood fully as if determined. “You know what? Go get your guitar. What this house needs is some music!” Jason didn’t need more prompting than that. He raced up the stairs—Chinchilla chasing after
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