Chapter 5: The Jar

On Friday morning Tristram was at the office, and I went back to the house for my things.

Bridget came with me, and so did Ethan.

He was off shift, in a gray sweater and jeans, and he parked his truck at the curb instead of the drive.

"I'm not here as a paramedic," he said. "Think of me as a man with a strong back and no opinions."

"You have opinions," Bridget said.

"I have several. I'll keep them in the truck."

I almost laughed.

It was the first time anything had been funny in a week.

The key still worked.

The front hall smelled of lilies from the party, gone brown in their vases.

I took the stairs to the bedroom and pulled my suitcase from the closet.

It was strange how little in that room was mine.

The closet held eight dresses Inez had chosen.

The nightstand held a framed photograph of Tristram and his mother at the lake.

I packed my passport, my grandmother's ring and the winter coat I had bought myself with my first paycheck.

Ethan carried the suitcase down the stairs with one hand.

At the bottom, he held the front door open with his shoulder.

My wrist grazed the inside of his arm as I passed.

It was warm.

I felt it all the way up to my elbow, and I pulled my hand away fast.

"Sorry," I said.

"Don't be."

His voice was even, and his ears had gone slightly pink.

I put that away to think about later.

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