Chapter 24: From the Same Case

In September, Gabe finished the table.

He built it from the seven weeks of deck boards, every one of them still numbered in pencil on the end.

He set it under the loft window where the afternoon light came in.

He had sanded it twice, and rubbed in oil until the cedar went the color of honey.

"It's too big for the room," I said.

"It's exactly the size of the room."

"It's a table that eats a loft."

"Then we'll need a bigger loft."

I laughed, and my wrist came up, and I put it down again, because nobody here needed me to hide it.

The divorce papers had come back signed the week before, through a lawyer, with no note.

Glen lived somewhere in Idaho. He had not called, and neither of us had wondered why.

Helen had left the box on the shop step the evening she called Mindy about it, with a card taped to the lid.

The card said: I am so sorry.

I had not answered it yet.

I had thought about answering it every day, and each day I had decided that was a question I was allowed to take my time with.

Mindy came up the stairs at five, with her leather jacket over one arm and the box held in both hands.

The fourth stair creaked.

"You made it," I said.

"I said six. I came at five. I couldn't wait."

She put the box down on the new table with great care and stood looking at it.

Gabe came in behind her carrying three glasses on a tray.

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