Chapter 11: The List

I sat down on Una's stool and read it.

There was no greeting. No explanation. Just dates, one after another.

June 7: I didn't look at you at the altar.

June 7: I slept in the study and locked the door so you'd hear it lock.

August 3: my mother had you serve at my birthday dinner in an apron, and I let her.

December 25: you ate Christmas dinner at the kitchen table with the staff, and I ate mine.

February: you had pneumonia, and I sent my driver to the hospital instead of going.

June 7, the second year: I called you the rat's daughter in front of my men at the Anchor, and I let them laugh.

September, the third year: you begged me not to let them send Nessa away, and I said it wasn't my business.

March 9, the fourth year: nobody remembered your birthday, and I remembered and said nothing.

November 12, the fifth year: you brought me your father's tape.

I said, "Your father taught you well," and locked it in the safe without playing it.

The last line was by itself at the bottom of the second side, with space around it.

November 14: I said keep her.

That was all.

He hadn't signed it.

I folded it back into quarters very carefully, the way it had come.

My hands were steady. I didn't understand why.

Una came out from the back with two coffees and saw my face.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"You've gone the color of that wall."

"Can you watch Nessa for an hour?"

She looked at the paper in my hand. She didn't ask.

"Go," she said.

I texted him from the sidewalk.

"Come to the shop. Now. Wait at the car."

He was there in twenty minutes, which meant he'd driven from wherever he'd been.