Chapter 18: Five Minutes

The fourth-floor hall was empty except for a window, a water cooler, Gilbert and me, and Dalton at the far end.

Dalton had stopped at the elevator.

I had told him I wanted no one between us.

He stood where I could see him, ten yards off, with his back against the wall.

Gilbert stood by the window with the paper still in his hand.

I waited.

"I want to say it without a lawyer," he said. "Without my father. Without anyone telling me what to say."

"Then say it."

"I remember the first morning," Gilbert said. "You came down in that blue robe with your hair wet."

He looked at the floor.

"You said, 'Is that coffee?' I said, 'It's tea, it's better for you.' And you said, 'Okay.'"

His mouth twisted.

"It was that easy. I thought, I can do this every day. And I did."

"Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

"I wanted you to know it got worse," he said. "Not better."

His hand tightened on the paper.

"Every morning I handed you that cup, I told myself it was the last time. And then you'd kiss me and say thank you."

I held very still.

"I'm not telling you this so you'll feel sorry for me," he said.

"I always knew what I was doing to you. I never once forgot."

"I know you didn't," I said.

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