Chapter 5: Four Sentences

That night someone pushed a folded receipt under the cottage door.

It was in pencil, in a thin, careful hand: Please call me. M. Tull. A phone number.

I called it four times.

It rang out every time, and on the fourth a recorded voice said the mailbox was full.

I sat on the edge of the narrow bed and looked at the pencil letters.

A woman who cleaned offices at night, with mended sleeves, had paid someone to keep me quiet.

I didn't know yet what that meant.

I only knew that on the day I stood up, she was the first person I wanted in the room.

On Saturday morning Adele came to the cottage with a sheet of cream paper and a pot of tea.

"Four sentences," she said, and laid it in my lap. "That's all I'm asking. If anyone speaks to you tonight, you say these and you smile."

I read them.

Thank you for having me.

I am so grateful to the Hollister family.

I look forward to joining the Bellinghams.

I hope to make everyone proud.

"Say them for me," Adele said.

I said them.

She listened with her head tilted, her hand on my wrist.

"Softer on the second one. Like you mean it." She smiled. "You'll do beautifully, darling. After tonight everything settles. I promise."

It was the third time she had promised me something, and she still hadn't told me what.

Camille did my hair in the big bedroom with the lit mirror.

She hummed while she worked, and when I flinched at a tug she said, "Sorry, sorry, sorry," and kissed the top of my head.

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