Ruby looked at Samuel once, briefly, and then she also turned toward the television.
Samuel accepted this without visible injury and reached for his coffee.
They watched together. The news had not moved on it was still circling, the way news circles when it has found something worth the orbit, returning to the same footage, the same dock, the same yellow tape shifting in the morning wind off the water.
A reporter stood at a respectful distance from where the police were still working and said careful, hedged things into her microphone that added up, collectively, to the fact that nobody official was saying anything yet, which meant everyone unofficial was saying everything.
"That's a good thing," Ruby said, after a while.
Her voice had settled into something measured and considered, the tone she used when she was thinking aloud but only slightly when the thought was already mostly formed, and she was simply giving it its final shape in the air.
