was partly open.
I pushed it wider.
A folder lay open on his desk.
One page showed an Oregon address. Another showed a start date six weeks away.
He pointed down the hall.
Ben’s office looked
half-erased.
Two shelves were bare. His books sat in boxes by the wall. The framed photo of Olive and me was wrapped in newspaper, and the mug she’d painted for him was already packed.
“Chelsea?”
I turned.
Ben stood in the doorway holding a coffee.
“Chelsea?”
I looked from him to the boxes.
“You accepted a job in Oregon?”
His face changed.
“I was going to tell you everything!”
“Chelsea, let me explain.”
I held up the lunch bag.
“You accepted a job in Oregon?”
“I brought you your favorite sandwich and apple pie because I thought you were exhausted. Meanwhile, you’ve been packing up your
