Five Hours a Year novel · Chapter 19 of 24

Chapter 19: The Old Front Door

The doorman held the door of our building for me on Wednesday afternoon as if I had only been out for groceries.

"Mrs. Kittridge," he said. "Welcome home."

"Thank you," I said, and I did not correct him.

The apartment was on the twenty-second floor, and the elevator took its time.

I had left it on a Thursday morning with a black dress and one suitcase.

Nothing had moved.

My coffee mug sat in the rack.

My reading glasses lay on the arm of the sofa, where I'd dropped them the night before my father died.

The closet still held my dark suits in a row, pressed, in plastic.

Alec had gone to the firm to collect his files before anyone changed the locks.

Donna had gone down to the corner for milk, because she said no one could prepare for a hearing without proper tea.

Frances had gone to a hotel to sleep for six hours and wake up dangerous.

The clerk was at the dining table with the four gray boxes.

He stood when I came in.

"Ma'am. I've put the sheets in order by year."

"You should sit, please. I'm not the court."

"No, ma'am." He sat. "I just want to do it right."

I laid out the plan on the table, one page at a time.

He would testify to the Friday sheets, and the assistant who handed them over, and the rule that had made him keep them.

I would ask him twelve questions and not one more.

"The lawyer for the other side may try to make you look foolish," I said.

"I know."

"Don't let him."

"I won't." He took a breath. "I wasn't brave about the numbers. I only didn't like them. But I'd like to be brave now."

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