A little while later he heard Lettie and the dogs heading outside for their morning run, and then Dad shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and stretching.
“You made bread?” Dad asked, peering into the oven.
Wyatt nodded, and untied his apron.
“Smells good,” Dad said.
Wyatt nodded again, wishing he could find that same comfort in the scent of baking bread that he usually did. But he couldn’t, not today. Everything felt muted and distant, as though Wyatt was watching from underwater.
“Coffee?” Dad asked, and went to the machine.
Wyatt nodded, and balled his apron up in his hands.