Chapter 21: Claim for Continued Existence

On Friday night I noticed that Quincy's wrist was bare.

He had been checking the time all day, out of habit, and finding nothing there.

At ten past eleven he gave up and walked into the kitchen.

I heard a drawer open and shut.

When he came back, he had the face of a man who had put something down and could not remember deciding to.

The pier plan was spread across his dining table on seven orange stickers.

I stood over it in his shirt, with my hair damp and my brace on my left wrist.

"Here," I said, tapping the end of the pier. "Posy needs me alone at 10:40."

"You are not going to be alone."

"I'm going to be in front of two hundred donors, a fireworks barge and a live microphone."

"Which is not what she wants."

"Which is exactly what she'll get."

I slid a sticker an inch to the left.

"The foundation toast is at 10:30. Hattie booked the band, and the band leader has the microphone."

"The same band leader."

"He says he's been waiting weeks for me to come back."

Quincy picked up the sticker that said: Posy.

"She won't say anything on a microphone."

"She'll say everything. She's not a liar, Quincy. She's polite."

"Explain that."

"I did claims for eight years. A person will tell an adjuster anything, if you ask in a flat voice and write it down."

"And Posy?"

"Posy is the most helpful person alive."

I said it with a strange, tired tenderness.

"She has never once refused to answer a question."

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