Chapter 19: Scrambled Eggs

The knock came at seven, and it was on the wrong door.

I heard it through the wall, three soft raps on room six.

Then my mother's voice, low and awake. "Who is it?"

"It's Tripp, Mrs. Lindqvist."

A long silence followed.

Knox lay on his back beside me with one arm still across my waist, and his eyes were open.

"Stay," I said.

"I'm staying."

I put on my dress and my coat, and he put on his sweater, and we stepped out onto the walk together.

My mother stood in the open door of room six in a plaid bathrobe, holding a wooden spoon.

She looked at me.

She looked at Knox behind me, and at his sweater, which was on backward.

She looked at the spoon in her hand, and then she did the kindest thing I have ever seen her do.

She said nothing at all.

Tripp stood on the walk in yesterday's blazer.

He had not slept, and he had not shaved, and his eyes were swollen.

His car was parked crooked across two spaces, with the door still open.

"I'm not here to fight," he said.

"That's good," said my mother. "I'm not dressed for it."

He looked at me, and then at the man beside me, and for a moment his face did something complicated.

"Brother," he said.

"Tripp."

"You could have stopped me that night," Tripp said.

"Yes," Knox said.

"So could I."

Neither of them said anything else.

Tripp reached into his pocket and held out his phone.

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