(Rebecca's POV)
The park by Sean's place has this one stretch I've never liked — a low stone retaining wall running along the top of the slope, old enough that the mortar's gone soft and gray between the stones, worn smooth on top from twenty years of kids doing exactly what Jack's about to do.
I'm only half here. That's the truth of it, and I'll spend a long time later turning that fact over like a stone with a sharp edge on the underside. Half of me is watching Jack drag a stick through a patch of mud, narrating something about levers and force that he clearly picked up from Eric and is now performing back at me with total, uncomplicated confidence. The other half is somewhere else — running through whether I forwarded the Munich meeting notes to Eric's assistant, whether the follow-up
