Chapter 13: Read the Bottom

Roz sat where she was told.

Her fiancé took the chair beside her and kept one hand on her back, the way he always did.

He was a tall, easy man, and he looked at the green logo on the table.

"Mom, what is this?"

"A contract for your tent," his mother said. "Read the bottom."

He read it.

"It says Imogen signed."

"Imogen, did you sign it?"

"No."

"She's confused," Roz said softly. "Honey, she doesn't remember. Her mom signed as her agent, and Imogen said it was fine."

"I never said that."

"You did. At the kitchen table, in March. You were so tired."

It was a good lie, and it came out smooth and sad.

His mother slid a pen and a paper napkin across the table.

"Write your name, dear."

I wrote it.

Imogen Brannigan, slanting left, with the g crossed like a little knife.

She laid the napkin next to the contract and turned both toward her son.

He looked from one to the other for a long time.

"They don't match," he said.

"Handwriting changes when you're tired," Roz said.

"Not that much."

"Tell him what you told the rental company last Tuesday," his mother said.

The woman from the church shifted in her chair.

"I'd rather not."

"Please."

"She said Imogen was fragile," the woman said, very low. "She said if anyone called and it wasn't her, not to talk to them."

Her fiancé took his hand off Roz's back.

It wasn't a big move.

I saw her feel it anyway.

"I was protecting her," Roz said. "You've seen her. She's been so stressed."