After, there was the voice from the school office.
Calm. Trained. Careful.
“Mr. Whitaker, this is Sandra from Dayler Creek High. Macy has been asked to remain at the office this morning. There are some serious concerns that require your presence.”
Cole stood perfectly still while the blade on the table saw wound down beside him. The white oak board under his hand shivered one last time and went still. Sawdust floated in the angled morning light like something too soft and harmless to belong to the feeling that had just gone through his body.
He looked across the workshop. Lunchbox on the shelf. Thermos beside it. Rachel’s old blue key hook by the door, still hanging where she had installed it eight years earlier because she’d said if she didn’t put a place for things in this house, both of them would lose their minds. Rachel had been gone for four years, but the key hook remained. Some objects stayed because replacing them felt practical. Some stayed because replacing them felt like betrayal.
“What kind of concerns?” he asked.
There was the smallest pause.
“I think it would be better explained in person.”
