Chapter 19: Two A.M.

On Thursday night I was awake at two in the morning anyway.

Poppy had finished feeding and fallen asleep against my shoulder, and I stood in the dark kitchen with her, hungry myself.

There was a sleeve of dry crackers on the counter.

I ate one.

It tasted exactly as it had in January.

The knock came while I was chewing.

It was a soft knock, two raps, and then nothing.

I went to the window.

Troy stood on my porch with a pot in one hand and a bowl in the other.

The porch light made his face look gray.

I opened the door the width of the chain.

"I said you could say no," he said. "I'll leave if you say no."

"What is it?"

"It's your grandmother's chicken and rice. I used the card from the fridge, the one with the grease on it."

I said nothing.

"I made it tonight, after my shift. I made it three times this week, to get the pepper right."

"Troy."

"Every time, I thought, this is what I should have done that night. I should have put it on the stove and told you to sit down."

His voice shook.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me. It's only a bowl of soup. It's what you asked for, and I'm bringing it ten weeks late."

I took the chain off.

I opened the door, and he held out the bowl with both hands.

It was steaming.

It was my grandmother's pot, I realized, the dented blue one, which I had thought was lost in the move.

I took it.

It was heavy and warm, and the smell reached me before I lifted the spoon, and for a moment my eyes stung.

It smelled like her kitchen.

"Thank you," I said.