I'm cutting into my perfectly prepared steak when my phone buzzes against the white tablecloth. The caller ID makes me pause mid-chew.
Chloe.
I haven't heard from her since that disastrous dinner three days ago. Part of me wants to let it go to voicemail, but curiosity wins.
"What do you want, Chloe?"
Her voice comes through shaky, different from her usual calculated tone. "Noah, I... I need to ask you something."
"Make it quick. I'm having dinner."
"It's about Great-aunt Nora."
That stops me cold. I set down my fork, giving her my full attention. "What about her?"
"She's dying, Noah. The doctors say she has maybe days left."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Nora Armstrong. Ninety-three years old and the only member of Chloe's family who ever treated me like a human being.
"When?" I manage to ask.
"We're not sure. She's at Mercy Hospice upstate. She's been asking for you."
