He Thought I'd Forget novel · Chapter 31 of 32

Chapter 31: Every Morning

"He left when you sat down," Jeanine said into my hair.

"He what?"

"He heard every word. Then he got up and went." She let go of me and held out her car keys. "He said to tell you Butler Street. He said walk, don't run."

"Where's Davey?"

"At the salon with the front desk girl, eating a muffin the size of his head. Go. I'll bring him."

I didn't walk.

Jeanine drove me, and I was out of the car before it fully stopped.

The brown paper was gone from the storefront next to Clark's shop.

The windows were clean and bare, and the late sun came straight through them.

The door was propped open with a paint can.

Inside, it smelled like fresh varnish.

There was a long counter across the back, in pale cherry, rounded smooth as soap.

There was a tall drafting table under the front window, angled to catch the light.

A wall of narrow shelves held brushes upright in jars, every size, still in their paper sleeves.

Cans of enamel stood in a row, sorted by color.

Clark was at the back, on his knees, wiping down the last corner of the counter with a rag.

He looked up.

"You were supposed to walk," he said.

"Jeanine drove."

"Of course she did."

He stood up slowly.

There was sawdust in his beard and varnish on his knuckles.

"You left," I said.

"I stayed until you sat down," he said. "Then I ran. This needed one more coat, and I wanted it dry before you saw it."

I put my hand flat on the counter.

It was cool, and perfectly smooth, and under my palm, small enough to miss, there was a carved canoe.

"Structural," I said.

My voice didn't work right.

"Load-bearing," he said.

"How long have you been building this?"

"Since the merchants' lady climbed your stairs." He rubbed the back of his neck. "The landlord's holding the lease. It's in your name. You don't have to sign it. You can say no."

"I'm not going to say no."

"I know," he said. "But you can."

I came around the counter and kissed him with varnish on both our hands.

Jeanine came in with Davey on her hip and said, "Oh, for God's sake, it's a place of business."

The next morning I woke up at six-fifteen.

I knew it was Thursday.

I knew Byron was in a cell.

I knew I'd signed a lease at a counter with a canoe on it.

Davey stood up in his crib and pointed at the window.

"Cak," he said.

It was the first time he'd said it.

He meant the sign across the street.

On Friday my new bank card came, and it said LEONA HATHERLY in raised silver letters.

I bought the café owner a coffee with it.

He said it was bad business to buy a man his own coffee and drank it anyway.

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