Chapter 7: Heart, Heart, Heart

The doorbell rang at ten.

Renee's husband opened it, looked up a long way, and called, "Sabina, there's a very tall man on the porch with a phone and a bad attitude."

"I don't have a bad attitude," Quinton said from the porch.

"You're not smiling."

Renee came out of the kitchen with a dish towel over her shoulder.

"She stays in my sight," she told Quinton. "You sit where I can see your hands."

"Good," Quinton said. "I'd want that too."

He sat at the kitchen table with his coat still on.

He put his phone in front of me.

"My mother forwarded the whole thread. It goes back seven years. She asked me to let you read it yourself."

I picked it up.

The first message was dated nearly seven years ago.

It said, "Hi Dorothy! Thank you so much for the invitation. Bryce and I have plans this year, but it means the world. Heart."

I scrolled.

Every message had the same sweet voice, the same exclamation points, the same small heart.

"Thanks for the sweater, Dorothy! So cozy! Heart."

I had never seen a sweater.

"Bryce and I are away for the holidays, so sorry! Heart."

"I'll think about it, but work is crazy right now. Heart."

Then I reached a message dated the ninth of March.

"Thank you for the birthday card, Dorothy! It made my day. We're having a quiet dinner. Heart."

I put the phone down.

"That was my birthday," I said. "Bryce said he had a client dinner. I ate at the counter by myself."

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