Chapter 10: A Threat, Not a Promise

I didn't ask her that night, and I didn't ask her the next day.

I told myself I wanted it from her mouth and not from a file in someone's drawer, and mostly that was true.

On Thursday evening I went back to the gym for my chalk bag, after closing, in a storm.

The front lights were off.

One lamp burned behind the desk, and Sadie was down on her knees at the base of the orange wall with a rag and a bucket, wiping the rubber floor.

Rain hammered the warehouse roof so hard I had to shout.

"You're not supposed to be on the clock!"

"I'm not! The floor's tacky and I couldn't sleep!"

She stood up, and I saw her wince and tuck her right hand against her stomach.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"Sadie."

"A hold came off the wall. It was loose. It's a scratch."

It was not a scratch.

There was a line across the heel of her hand, deep and bright, running down her wrist, and it was dripping onto the floor.

I took her by the elbow before I remembered I'd made the rules.

She let me.

"First aid kit's behind the desk," she said.

"I know where it is."

I sat her on the edge of the front counter and ran the cold water at the little sink in the corner.

Then I took her hand in both of mine and held it under the tap.

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