A warm hand slips over my thigh. I turn to meet Jonah’s furrowed brow. He offers me a thin-lipped smile but says nothing. He doesn’t seem to hate me for my glaring lack of excitement about our predicament, but he can’t hide the disappointment in those blue eyes. Jonah is ready to go there now. “When do you have to work again?” I ask, craving a safe topic of conversation. “Day after tomorrow. I was thinking we could fly out to Bangor. Visit Wren’s grave and see Aggie. Yell at Mabel, get her to smarten up.” “Yeah, because rebellious teenagers respond well to that,” I say sarcastically, noting
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