Chapter 22: Her Door

Justine's POV

Clive knocked.

He had the key in his pocket, and he knocked anyway, three times, on a Thursday night five weeks after Dayton.

I opened the door in my socks with a dish towel on my shoulder.

"You have a key," I said.

"I know."

"You're allowed to use it."

"I wanted you to see me before I came in."

He stood in the hall in his canvas jacket with sawdust still on the cuffs and a white bakery bag in his hand.

I had not seen him in five weeks.

We had talked, twice, on the phone, for twenty minutes each, about nothing, the boat he was repairing and the cat who had moved into his truck.

I had written his name in my phone as Clive and never once changed it to anything else, and I had checked it every day.

"I got a letter from Brendan's firm," he said. "The lease. Ten years, the old rent."

"I know."

"You know?"

"He told me in the lobby. I wasn't supposed to say."

"I told Maureen I'd rather lose the yard."

"And now you're angry," I said, "because it's a gift from a man who's trying to look like he's better."

"A little."

"He said he wasn't buying anything. He said he couldn't have it on him."

Clive looked at the bag in his hand.

"I'll pay the rent," he said. "Every month, on time. I'll never owe him a thing."

"That sounds like a plan."

"I'm told you like those."

I took the bag out of his hand and put it on the hall table and shut the door behind him.

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