Chapter 23: Her Table

The first Tuesday I picked the menu, and the menu was grilled cheese.

I burned the first four.

"It's the pan," I told the ceiling.

"It's the heat," said Graham from my one chair, with his sleeves rolled and a loaf of bread on his knee.

He had come at five with the bread and a bottle of cheap wine.

He looked nervous and was trying not to.

"Turn it down," he said.

"I'm turning it down."

"You're turning it up."

I put the spatula between us.

"You may not instruct me in my own kitchen, Doctor."

"I was only offering a medical opinion."

"On cheese."

"On smoke."

I was still laughing when I crossed to the window with my cane to let out the smoke.

I looked down at the street.

Under the streetlight in front of the laundromat stood a woman in a camel coat with a small suitcase.

She did not look up at my window.

She simply stood, in the wet snow, with her hands in her pockets and her hair dark with it.

Graham came to stand beside me.

His whole body went still. I felt it through my shoulder.

"I'll go," he said.

"No."

I took my coat off the hook.

"Jo."

"This is my door," I said. "I'll answer it."

I went down the stairs one at a time, with the cane and a hand on the rail.

I opened the street door.

The cold came in.

Daphne looked up at me.

She looked different. She had no makeup on.

I looked at her spine, out of habit. It was straight, and it was only a spine.

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