Chapter 11: The Pantry

The engagement party was in Stanley's backyard, under paper lanterns, and I was the maid of honor.

Justin was the best man.

That meant we stood at the head of the same table all evening, six inches apart, and passed the same bread basket without touching it.

He had been polite for two hours.

He said "Susanna" the way you say the name of a colleague.

At nine o'clock Stanley stood up to give a toast, and Mom sent me inside to fetch the extra napkins.

The pantry was off the kitchen, a narrow room lined with shelves of Mom's jars.

I was reaching for the napkin box when the door opened behind me.

I turned around.

Justin stood in the doorway with his tie loosened.

"You told me to leave you alone," I said.

"I did."

"You're not very good at it."

"I'm terrible at it," he said, and shut the door behind him.

The light was a single bulb on a string.

It lit his face from above, and he looked tired and furious and very good.

"I told my father the truth because I couldn't stand to lie to him about you," he said. "That's the only honest thing I've done since Thursday."

"And the dishonest thing was the curtain."

"The curtain was the worst thing I've ever done."

"Then why am I still thinking about it?"

I hadn't meant to say it.

He crossed the pantry in two steps.

His hand cupped my jaw, and I let him.

"Tell me to leave," he said.

"There's a rule about this room," I said. "You don't touch patients in your clinic."

"This isn't my clinic."

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