He Told Me I Lost Our Baby, and Five Years Later I Met Him at His Door novel · Chapter 12 of 24

Chapter 12: Thirty-Three Weeks

Cormac's POV

My mother's kitchen on Savin Hill Avenue has the same yellow linoleum it had when I was six.

The cabinets are painted white every spring by a man she pays in cash.

I came into it on Friday at ten past eight in the morning, because Padraig had rung me at seven and said, in a voice I had never heard from him, "Come to the house. Don't ask me why."

Siobhan stood in the kitchen doorway in her grey coat with her hands in her pockets.

She was white to the mouth, and she had not been to bed.

My mother sat at the table in her dressing gown with a cup of tea and the Globe open at the death notices.

She did not look up.

"Cormac," she said. "You'll want your breakfast."

"I'm not hungry, Ma."

"You never are, now." She turned a page. "Maureen. You're in the house uninvited."

"Padraig let me in," Siobhan said.

"Padraig has a great deal to answer for."

I looked from one of them to the other.

I felt it in the room.

"What's going on?" I said.

Siobhan took her right hand out of her pocket.

She had the scan in it, the grey print curled soft at the corners.

She crossed the kitchen and put it into my hand.

I did not understand why she was giving it to me.

I had seen it twice already, once on the table on Sunday and once in her envelope.

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