Chapter 7: Monday

The storm came in over the harbor at dusk, and the motel's power went out at seven.

I stood in the dark of room nine with a dead phone and the cold coming up through the floor.

Then I put my coat on and walked to the dock.

Ben's shed had a lit window and a woodstove, and the door was open before I knocked.

"I figured," he said.

"The motel has no heat."

"The cot's behind the stove. It's the warmest place in Port Harlow."

I sat on the edge of it with my hands out to the iron.

The wind was hitting the shed in long, flat blows. Every board creaked, and the water slapped the piles underneath.

He gave me the thermos of soup. It was bad, as promised.

I ate all of it.

"Judith told Teddy to stop filming," I said. "She said it on an open line, in front of us."

"People only say that about a frame that matters."

"He's the cousin who films everything. I don't have his number."

"Then he'll find yours," Ben said.

"I don't have a plan for tomorrow," I said.

"You have a noon invitation."

"I'm not going to apologize."

"Good."

"But I want to go over there, Ben. I want to look at him in his mother's house and make him say it."

He sat across from me on an upturned crate, his elbows on his knees.

"Then we'll go," he said. "On your terms. The tide turns at eleven. I'll have you at the island dock by noon."

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