Chapter 5: One Couch

At 6:00 sharp I took off the rented dress.

I had promised the guests until six, and I keep my promises to strangers.

Alana hung the dress in the ferry office closet in a clear garment bag, with the receipt pinned to the front.

"Tomorrow I'll have it pressed, honey," she said. "You just worry about the husband."

Gran had gone home in a car Alana ordered, with a slice of cake in a napkin.

I stood in the apartment above the ferry office in a sweatshirt Knox had handed me.

It said LACROIX HARBOR FERRY on the front and came down to my knees.

I had a clutch, a laminated schedule, and no home.

I had given up my apartment on Friday, because the Tradd Street house was supposed to be mine on Saturday night.

But the trust's electric account stayed shut until the marriage was recorded on Monday morning.

My spare plan for a place to sleep had been Preston's guest room, which was no longer available.

"You can have the bed," Knox said.

"You can have the bed," I said. "You're the captain."

"You're the guest."

"I'm the wife," I said. "In writing. For thirty days."

He looked up from the stove. He was making grilled cheese, in a tuxedo shirt with the sleeves rolled.

"Why thirty?"

"Because the license isn't recorded until Monday," I said. "A marriage that ends in one day looks like an audit."

"By who?"

"By anyone."

He turned the sandwich over.

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