Chapter 17: The Letter in the Closet

Cillian's POV

I left her sleeping and pulled on yesterday's shirt in the dark.

The sedan at my gate had its parking lights on.

Thurston Lowry stood beside it with his tie in his fist.

He looked like he had slept in the car.

I stopped three feet from him.

"Thackray," he said.

"It's five-thirty in the morning."

"I know. I'm sorry. I couldn't wait until a better hour."

He opened the back door and took out a cardboard box.

It held a field notebook, a rain jacket, two worn paperbacks and a coffee mug with a chipped handle.

"These were in the apartment," he said. "They're hers."

He looked at the box.

"I didn't want her to have to ask me for them."

"I'll give them to her."

"Thank you."

He held the box a second longer, then handed it over.

"I want to say it to her," he said. "I know she's hearing it Saturday."

"Then wait until Saturday."

"I wanted her to know I'm not waiting for a microphone to be sorry."

"She'll hear that from me."

"Fine."

His eyes went past me, up the hill, to the cottage with its curtains drawn.

"Is she in there?"

"That's her business."

"It's yours too, I guess." He rubbed his face. "I'm not going to fight about it."

"Good."

"I wasn't what she needed. I think I knew by the third week. I proposed because Mara said it was time."

"You said that to Willa at the cove."

"I'm saying it to you because it's worse than I said." He took a breath. "Mara knew about you."

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