Chapter 5: Eight Years

Two paramedics wheeled Daphne out through the side doors, and Graham went with her as far as the lobby.

He did not go with her to the ambulance.

I know, because I was at the coat check by then, with my crutches and my wrap, and Arthur's hand on my elbow.

"Go home, Madam Chair," Arthur said. "I'll make your excuses."

"What excuses?"

"That you were tired. It's even true."

He kissed my cheek and let his driver take him.

I got as far as the curb, and it had started to snow.

Snow on crutches is a bad idea.

I stood there looking at the wet pavement and the line of cars.

"Jo."

Graham came out of the revolving door without his coat.

"Let me drive you. It's icy. You can't do those stairs alone."

"You have a speech to give."

"I've been told I won't be giving it."

His voice was flat.

"The chief isn't happy. I'll deal with it Monday."

"Daphne needs you."

"Daphne has two paramedics and a friend from her office."

He looked straight at me.

"You have crutches and a flight of stairs."

I got into his car.

Nobody dragged me.

My leg hurt, I was cold, and I wanted to hear what he would say with no one else to say it to.

The heater came on. The wipers went back and forth.

He drove for six blocks without speaking.

"Tom died eight years ago," he said at last.

I had never met Tom.

I knew a framed photograph of a smiling boy on Daphne's piano, and I knew that Graham didn't talk about him.

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