Chapter 16: Third Time

I woke on the air mattress at two in the morning with my own voice in my ears.

It was not a dream.

I could smell the back stairs of the townhouse, floor polish and the lemon oil Margaret's housekeeper used on the rail.

I was standing on the fourth step in a cream dress with my shoes in my hand, so no one upstairs would hear.

It was August, and the heat in the stairwell was thick.

Colin stood two steps below me in his shirtsleeves with a glass of water he never drank.

"I found a place," I heard myself say. "It's small. It's ours. We could sign this week."

"Katie."

"This is the third time I've asked."

"Next month," he said. "After the gala. Mother needs me to be seen at it."

"That's what you said in May."

"I mean it this time."

"You meant it in May too."

I heard how quiet I was.

I wasn't begging, and I wasn't angry.

I was tired.

"Then I'm done asking," I said.

He said, "That's not what I'm saying."

"I know what you're saying," I said. "I've heard it three times."

Then I put my shoes on the step and went to bed, and I didn't cry.

The memory let go of me.

I sat up on the mattress breathing hard.

I wasn't sad.

I was so angry I shook.

I got up and crossed the dark room in bare feet.

The landing outside the door was black, and the single bulb had burned out.

I turned the lock and pulled.

The door opened four inches and something heavy slid against the other side.

I yanked it wide, and Colin tipped backward into my flat and caught himself on one elbow on the floor.

He had been asleep against the wood with a sanding block in his lap.

"Katie," he said thickly. "What time is it?"

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