Chapter 16: The Roof

The hatch to the bank's roof was a square of black iron at the top of a narrow ladder.

I came up through it in my parka and my sneakers and stood on tar paper with the wind pulling at my hair.

Cyrus had laid out three quilts and a thermos.

Above us, the few stars the city allowed were out, small and hard and white.

"You said bring nothing," I said.

"I didn't mean the parka."

"I'd have frozen."

"I'm aware. That is why I bought a space heater."

He nudged it with his foot, a small orange coil on an extension cord that ran down the hatch.

I started laughing and couldn't stop.

"You're a hundred and sixty-three years old and you bought a space heater for the roof."

"I read an article about romance."

"Was it good?"

"It said to bring soup."

He unscrewed the thermos and handed me a cup, and the steam smelled like dill.

I drank it on the quilt, with my back against his chest and his arms around me, and looked up.

"I told Brenda," I said.

"I know. You texted four exclamation points."

"She already knew."

"Of course she did."

"There will be a hearing. A public one."

"Then I will sit in the room."

"Yes. In the back row."

"Where you place me."

I turned my head and kissed his jaw.

"That's the right answer," I said.

He went very quiet, and his arms tightened around me.

"What do you want tonight?" he said.

"Something new."

"Tell me."

I put down the cup.

I took his hand, his cold left hand with its long fingers, and I slid it under my sweater and flat against my stomach.

"Last time," I said, "you drank from my neck."

"Yes."

"I want you to take it from somewhere else."

His fingers flexed against my skin.

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