Chapter 17: Not Our Deal

Kurt didn't say a word on the drive back from the club.

I told him what my aunt had said, and his hands stayed locked at ten and two the whole way.

"She put that girl on the sidewalk on purpose," he said at last.

"Yes."

"And then she held her hand."

"For three years."

He parked outside the hotel and sat with the engine off.

"Casey, I have to tell you something. I should have told you at the shop."

I knew his voice. It was the voice of a man about to put something on the table that could not be taken back.

"Upstairs," I said.

In the room he stood by the lamp, took out his wallet, and gave me a folded slip of paper.

It was soft at the creases, in pencil, in my father's handwriting.

Kurt. If my older one ever turns up, be kind to her. She won't ask you for anything. Offer anyway.

I read it twice.

"When?"

"His last night. Three years ago."

"And you kept it in your wallet."

"Yes."

"Every July you read it."

"Yes."

"The first time you put your hand on my back, in the kayak, did you know who I was?"

"I knew by the time you said your name. I swear I didn't before."

"And since then?"

"Since then I haven't been able to tell which part of me is following his orders."

I laughed, and it came out wrong.

"I have a rule," I said. "We do not talk about my father. You made me keep it, and you were the one holding a note about me."

"I know."

"You said no past, no promises. You let me ask about your scar and you gave me a winch cable. You didn't give me this."

"I was afraid you'd think I was a favor to him."

"Wasn't it?"

"No."

"Seven days, you said. No names, no past." I put the paper on the bed. "I'm holding you to it. I'll see you Monday."

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