Chapter 23: Saturdays

Poppy slept in my arms in the back of Silvan's truck, with her rabbit pressed against my chin.

Rhett's sedan followed us to the boatyard and parked at the edge of the gravel.

He didn't get out until Silvan had carried her up the stairs.

Then he stood by his car, with a duffel bag in one hand, and waited for me to come to him.

"Her things," he said. "Pajamas, the nightlight. The blue book she likes."

"Thank you."

"I have something else."

He took a folded paper from inside his jacket and held it out, and I didn't take it.

"I'm not going to ask what it is."

"It says that Poppy lives with you," Rhett said. "It says I give up my claim to decide where she lives."

"A judge has to approve it."

"I know. But I've signed my half."

"You're giving her to me."

"I'm giving her back."

He had been crying a little, and he didn't hide it.

"I called the board chair this morning," he said. "I'm going to tell the state's investigators everything."

"Everything."

"The checks, the paper, the wedding. My name's in all of it."

"It'll be in the newspaper."

"Yes."

"Your mother will never speak to you again."

"She hasn't yet," Rhett said. "I'm waiting to see how that feels."

I took the paper at last, and I read it by the porch light, twice, all the way to his signature.

It was exactly what he'd said.

"I'm not forgiving you," I said.

"I know."

"I want to be very clear."

"You were. You've been clear for two weeks."

He set the duffel on the step.

"All I'm asking for is Saturdays. An hour, wherever you say. I'll bring her a book and I'll go home."

I looked at the man I'd almost married.

He seemed smaller, and more honest than I had ever known him to be.

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