Chapter 11: The Dark Car

Douglas was still on the sidewalk when I came out of the house with Polly on my shoulder.

My mother had held her coat for me at the door and had said nothing.

She had only touched my sleeve, once, with two fingers.

"I'll drive you," Douglas said.

"I'll take a cab."

"Ivy. It's dark and she's asleep."

I looked at my daughter's face against my collar.

I got in the car.

He drove with both hands on the wheel and the heater turned low, and he did not speak for four blocks.

Then, to the windshield, he said, "I shouldn't have shouted."

"You were right to."

"I wasn't. I was angry at myself and I put it on you."

"I put plenty on you."

"You had a right."

The streetlights went over the roof, one after another.

I watched his hands.

They were big, square hands, and I knew exactly what the back of the left one looked like when it was holding a coffee mug.

I had memorized things about him that I had never meant to keep.

Fourth Street was quiet.

He pulled in at the green door and turned off the engine.

Polly breathed slowly in the back seat, with Stripes under her chin.

"I'll carry her up," he said.

"I can."

"I know you can. Let me anyway."

"No."

"Okay."

Neither of us moved.

The rain had started again, quietly.

"What did you think, when you heard?" he asked. "That Philip never saw you touch her."

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