26
“Our friends are here,” Sam says when I come downstairs for breakfast. He’s reading another thick book, or maybe it’s the same one from last night, and sipping a cup of tea. I can smell coffee in a pot on the counter. Sarah said they bought some for me at the market the other night since they know that’s what we drink in the States.
Good. I could use some. Even though I was so exhausted last night by the time Sarah and I finally stopped talking, it still took me forever to fall asleep. I had way too much on my mind.
Sam points out the window. I part the curtains to see rain drizzling down on a group of people out huddled at the end of the walkway in front of the Everett-Wheeler house.
Reporters.
I mutter something I probably shouldn’t say, but I can’t help it. I’d just like a calm
