Chapter 9: Jude's Workbench

Jude's POV

I was sanding the garboard plank of a nineteen-foot skiff at one in the morning when somebody knocked on the shed door.

I knew it was her before I opened it.

Nobody else knocks twice, softly, and then waits.

Hanna stood in the rain in her green dress and an old coat, with her braid coming down.

She was wearing the slippers she wears around the house.

"He's been in my house again," she said.

"He took something from my apron. I changed every lock, Jude. He still got in."

"Come inside."

I put her in the chair by the woodstove and gave her the blanket I keep on the bench.

I checked the yard with a flashlight and walked the fence line to the road.

Nobody was there.

When I came back she had tucked her feet under her, and she was looking at the boat.

"I can't sleep in that house," she said. "Not tonight."

"There's a bunk in the room off the boathouse. It's clean. I can stay out here in the shed."

"I don't want to be alone."

"Then I'll sit up."

"Jude." She turned in the chair and looked at me. "I said something cruel to you in the truck."

"You did."

"I wanted to say it, because I was scared. It wasn't true."

I put down the flashlight.

My heart was going harder than the work had made it.

"Which part?" I said.

"The part about pity."

She stood up and let the blanket fall.

"I'm not asking for a promise," she said. "I won't take one from anybody for a long time."

"No nights, no mornings, no promises."

"I just want one thing that's mine tonight, and I want it to be you."

I should have said something wise.

I crossed the floor and kissed her instead.

Her mouth was warm and tasted like rain.

She made a small sound against my lips and grabbed two fistfuls of my shirt.

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