Chapter 24: Come In

He came up Alder Lane on Thursday at a quarter to six, on foot, with his things in a clear plastic bag.

I watched him from the porch.

He was thinner, and his hair had gone longer than he ever allowed, and he wore the same navy blazer he had been arrested in.

The neighbors' curtains moved, one house at a time.

He stopped at the foot of my steps.

For a moment neither of us spoke.

I had left the front door standing open behind me.

"Emmy," he said. His voice was rough. "I didn't think you'd be outside."

"Come in."

He stared at me.

"What?"

"You said you were coming home. Come in."

He climbed the steps slowly, and he looked at the open door and did not trust it.

I walked in ahead of him, and he followed me into the hall.

The hook by the door where his coat used to hang held a man's gray wool one, and a baby's yellow raincoat beside it.

On the wall, where our wedding picture had been, was a photograph of Hazel on the porch with the pan.

He took in the stairs, the new rug, and the rocking horse by the radiator.

"That's new," he said.

"Alastair built it. Hazel supervised."

His mouth tightened at the name.

I led him to the kitchen.

Hazel was at the table with a cup of tea, and she did not stand.

In the high chair beside her, my daughter was hitting a wooden spoon on the tray with great purpose.

She looked up at the man in the doorway.

She studied him politely and without interest.