Chapter 11: Sunday Three

The Marlow Falls library reading room had a green rug, a fish clock and a children's corner full of beanbags.

Grandma Maureen took the table by the window with her purse, a magazine and a thermos of tea.

She did not read the magazine.

I sat at the table in the middle of the room, and Mom sat across from me with a tote bag in her lap.

Dad had dropped me at the door at two o'clock sharp.

He had not looked at either of us.

There was no gate and no cinnamon, and I had known it would be like this.

Mom had come ten minutes early and stood outside the doors for the hello kiss.

She had bent and kissed my forehead, and I held still for it.

That was the fourth one I had counted.

I had not said anything.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked. "Since the bridge?"

"I'm fine."

"You look tired."

"I'm fine."

"I brought you some things."

She took a library book out of the tote bag.

It was a picture book about a lighthouse, with a soft green cover.

She slid it across the table.

"We never finished the puzzle," she said. "I thought we could read about it."

I put my hand flat on the cover and did not open it.

Across the room, Grandma Maureen turned a page of the magazine with a loud crackle.

I thought of the letter in my own handwriting, on its way to the judge.

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