Chapter 21: The Stove Goes Home

Eli's POV

On Tuesday morning I backed a rented flatbed up a gravel drive on the east side of the county.

A friend from the lumber yard rode along to help me lift.

Roz had asked me to go in her place, and I had said yes before she finished the sentence.

She had a meeting with her lawyer.

She also didn't want to see that kitchen in that house again.

I said I'd bring it home.

Dorothy opened the door in jeans and a sweatshirt, with her blond hair pulled back and no makeup.

She looked ten years younger than she had at the church.

"You're early," she said.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I've been up since five." She stepped aside. "It's all yours."

I had built every cabinet in the room.

Somebody had sawed the end off the island to make it fit, and it hurt to look at it.

The green range sat against the far wall with its brass knobs gleaming.

Roz had told me once what the green was.

She had wanted the color of the sage in her grandmother's yard.

Dorothy's mixing bowls were on top of it.

"It's a good stove," Dorothy said from the doorway. "I'm sorry I wanted it so much."

I didn't say it was fine. It wasn't.

"I'll take it off the wall first," I said.

My friend and I disconnected the gas line, rolled the range onto a dolly and eased it across the kitchen.

A small voice said, "Wait."

Ricky stood in the hall in dinosaur pajamas, rubbing his eye with his fist.

"Are you taking the stove?"

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