Chapter 9: Three A.M.

On Tuesday, Reginald's wife came to the shop in a trench coat and sunglasses and bought two things for cash.

She didn't say a word about her husband.

She just laughed in the changing alcove with the door shut for ten minutes, and left a fifty-dollar tip for Shawna.

That was Day 7.

By Thursday, Day 9, I could barely sleep.

It was three in the morning when I gave up and padded downstairs in a T-shirt, looking for tea.

The kitchen light was on.

Leon sat at the island in his shirtsleeves with a glass of whiskey he hadn't touched.

In front of him lay a stack of paper held down by a gold pen.

"You're up," I said.

"So are you."

"Reginald's driver is parked on the road with a thermos. I can't sleep with a thermos watching me."

"He doesn't know you're up."

"He's an optimist."

He didn't smile.

I pulled out the stool next to his and read the top page upside down.

It was typed on thick cream paper.

At the top it said LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT.

"Your father's," I said.

"Page eleven."

I turned it.

Page eleven had one paragraph underlined in pencil.

If my son Leon has not entered into a real marriage by his thirty-fifth birthday, his shares shall pass to my brother Reginald.

He has always been willing to do what is necessary.

"A real marriage," I said.

"My father's idea of a joke."

"What did he mean by it?"

"He meant that I'd never have one."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know how."

He picked up the glass, and put it down again.

"My mother died when I was nine," he said.

"She was the only person in the house who said it. Every night at the door."

"I love you, Leon, sleep well."

I didn't breathe.

"The day after the funeral my father sat me down in his study."

"He said people who say that word want something."

"He said don't let anyone say it to you without asking what they want."

"You were nine."

"I was very good at obeying."

He turned his head and looked at me.

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