Chapter 6: The Book

I turned the page with one finger.

The notebook was full of my handwriting, almost.

It was his handwriting, small and square, but every line was about me.

Sept 1. Oat milk, one sugar, extra hot, from the Brady Street place. Hand it over, don't explain.

Sept 4. Storm. She kisses first if you stand still. Do not touch her until she does.

Sept 5. She talks to Ida. Stay away. She will think about it for five weeks.

I flipped through pages, then through years.

There were tabs on the edges in eleven colors, one for each time he had done this.

On the first tab the writing was messy and short.

On the last it was calm and complete.

She hates being told she looks tired. She likes the left side of her neck. She laughs when you quote the hardware store jingle.

She tucks her braid behind her ear when she is about to lie to herself.

She wants to be asked to stay and will not say so.

I was breathing hard, in the dark kitchen of a man I had slept with an hour ago.

I turned to the last tab and read the final entry.

March 3. She leaves at 11:40 p.m. with two bags. The front stairs, not the back. Do not follow her.

Under it, in a shakier hand, he had written one more line.

She said I chose everything for her by knowing it. She is right.

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