Chapter 6: One Hundred Feet

At ten to three I was standing on the north side of Newbury Street, in front of a shop that sold candles.

The bridal salon was directly across, behind a white door and a window full of satin.

I had counted the distance on the walk over, using the pavement squares.

A hundred and four feet, door to door.

My husband, Ansel, had wanted to come with me.

"You can't be in a photograph," I'd said. "Not with Hugh's man loose."

"Then take Ruth's old phone and film everything."

"I'm filming."

He had given me a long look.

"If it goes wrong, you call me," he said. "You don't wait."

"It won't go wrong. I'm not going in."

I held the phone against my coat with the camera facing the salon, and I started recording at two fifty-eight.

At three-oh-two, Vivienne came to the window in her gown.

It was a long white dress with sleeves of lace, and she looked beautiful and nervous.

She saw me on the far sidewalk.

For a moment she didn't move.

Then she smiled and lifted one hand, and she stepped back out of sight.

At three-oh-four, Clay came out of the salon door.

He was in shirtsleeves with a tape measure around his neck.

He stopped on the step and looked down the street.

I knew the moment he saw me, because his shoulders dropped half an inch.

"Leona."

He said it across the street, not loud.

I did not answer.

He stepped off the curb.

A bike messenger swerved around him and swore, and Clay walked on, straight between two parked cars and over the double yellow line.

He was coming at me, and he was filming too, with his phone held out at his hip.

He wanted the picture of me not moving away.

I lifted my own phone higher.

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