Chapter 2: Foundations

The house had to come apart before it could come together. That was the contractor's professional opinion, delivered on the second morning with a clipboard and a very calm expression. Daniel Reeves had always been calm. Olivia remembered that about him — the particular steadiness of a person who had decided, at some point, that the world would not rattle him. He had done an admirable job pretending he wasn't rattled by her. She, in turn, was doing an admirable job pretending she hadn't thought about this moment — him, a job site, unavoidable conversation — for the six days since Ryan had told her who he'd hired. "The subfloor in the east wing is compromised," Daniel said, not looking up from his clipboard. "And there's water damage behind the kitchen wall that's been there long enough to become structural. We'll need to take those sections out before we can build back." "How long does that add?" Ryan asked. "Two weeks, maybe three. Depends on what we find." Ryan looked at Olivia. She kept her face composed, because he didn't know she had two fewer months than he thought, and she wasn't ready to tell him yet. "Fine," she said. "Whatever it takes." Daniel finally looked at her then, briefly, a glance with years packed into it. "We'll be as efficient as we can." "I know you will," she said, equally careful. Ryan, oblivious in the particular way of people who are grieving and focused, went to look at the kitchen wall. Daniel said, quietly, not moving: "I didn't know it would be you." "Ryan didn't know to tell you." "Are you —" he stopped. "Sick?" She kept her voice even. "Yes. But functional. Don't change how you work." He nodded once. Put the clipboard under his arm. "I'll need you to sign off on the demo order," he said. "Of course," she said. They were, she supposed, both very good at this.