Chapter 22: Sunrise

I went to the Crowhurst house an hour before dawn.

Alaric's mother let me in at the kitchen door, and she held my hand a second too long.

"He's in the east room," she said. "He asked that nobody come with him."

The east room had been his study.

Now every window was covered in sheets of black wool, and a single lamp burned on the table.

Alaric sat in a chair facing the biggest window, in a plain shirt and no bandages.

His face was healing in pink patches, and he looked young.

He didn't get up.

"You came," he said.

"You asked."

"I didn't think you would."

"Neither did I."

I sat down in the chair across from him, which was farther than I needed to sit.

He noticed.

He didn't say anything about it.

"The sun comes over the water at ten to six," he said.

"I've watched it from this window since I was a boy. Never once because I wanted to. It was just there."

"Why do you want to see it now?"

"Because I won't see it again."

He stood and went to the window.

He folded back one corner of the wool, and then one of the shutters behind it, no wider than two fingers.

Gray light came through the slit and lay on his hand.

It was only morning, not sun.

He held his palm in it for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he said, without turning.

"You said that in the road."

"I said I was sorry I was in pain. I'd like to say what I'm sorry for."

I waited.

"I'm sorry I made you sit on the sunny side. I'm sorry I never counted the seats in a car."

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