Gunnar kissed his daughter goodnight and then, exhausted, went to the kitchen for a cold glass of juice. He would’ve liked a beer, but after drinking himself into a stupor the week after Adam’s death, Gunnar had poured all of his alcohol down the sink and refused to keep any more in the house. So juice it was. Apple, golden yellow, and at least with a touch of seltzer it went down like soda. He took the glass to the living room couch and sat down.