Chapter 5: One Bed

My childhood bedroom had a double bed, a quilt my grandmother made, and one chair.

Santino shut the door and turned the key.

"Take the bed," he said. "I'll sleep in the chair."

"You'll sleep in the car."

"I'm not leaving you alone in this house."

"You left me alone in your office."

He was loosening his cuff, and his hand stopped.

I had not planned to say it.

It had been sitting in my chest for three days, and it came out whole.

"Two years, Santino. You never said stay. You never said wait."

"I told you my family was going to sell me on Friday, and you said, send me a card."

"I told you I wasn't asking your opinion."

"I was waiting for you to give it anyway!"

"It was your family. Your rule."

His voice stayed low.

"I wasn't going to be one more man who decided for you."

"So you decided nothing."

"I decided you'd walk out of that office knowing exactly who would be waiting at the bottom of the elevator."

"The driver."

"Yes."

"A driver is not a husband."

"No," he said. "It isn't."

We stood on either side of the quilt.

Rain ticked on the glass.

"And in the hall," I said. "In front of all of them. I don't buy women."

"In front of Harrison. In front of my mother's cousins."

"I meant it."

"You meant that you didn't want me."

"Helena."

"Say it was something else."

He crossed the room in three steps and stopped with his chest an inch from mine.

His eyes were very dark.

"Tell me to go sit in the chair," he said.

I looked at his mouth.

"That was the term," I said. "No touching when nobody's watching."

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