David, however, left all of that to Genevieve. He accepted her brief kiss goodbye, rose to let Johnson out of the spare room, and then the two of them snoozed another two and a half hours until nine. He’d been late for dinner the night before. Only fifteen minutes, but Genevieve hadn’t been pleased. The wine he’d picked out at the middlebrow liquor store on Dr. Longworth Avenue hadn’t been good enough to atone for his sin of unpunctuality. By nine thirty, he and Johnson were ambling south, his backpack bulging with the clothes he’d worn for dinner. “What do you want to do today, boy?” David asked. Johnson glanced at him, but didn’t offer any suggestions. “Public square? You want to try the Frisbee again?” Johnson continued to trot along, content for the moment, with no definitive thoughts regarding the rest of the day. David shrugged, and they turned right on Smithfield. The evening hadn’t been a total disaster, at least. He’d thought long and hard en route to Genevieve’s, and had come to the conclusion that no good could come from bringing up his second confrontation with Detective Ormsby.
