Chapter 18: The Guest List

Eli read his mother's letter at five on Friday morning, sitting on the bottom step with the envelope on his knee.

I stood two steps above him and watched the paper shake.

It was one page, in blue ballpoint, in a hand that slanted hard to the right.

He read it twice. Then he held it out to me.

"Read it out loud," he said. "I can't."

I took it.

"Elijah," I read. "If you are holding this, you have stopped taking his money, and I am proud of you."

My throat tightened. I kept going.

"I let him pay because I wanted you to have time. I never wanted you to have silence."

"A boy who keeps a secret for his mother's pills is a boy who loses himself."

"Tell the truth, and tell it to whoever it belongs to."

"I know there is a girl, and a locket you never put down. Give it back to her."

"Then feed her a good breakfast. You never feed yourself."

I couldn't see the last line. I wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand.

"Go on," Eli said, hoarse.

"It says: Be a man who shows up. I love you, my darling. Mama."

He put his face in his hands.

I sat down beside him on the step, and I put my arm around his shoulders, and nobody was watching.

I felt the muscles in his back shake once, and then go still.

"She knew," he said.

"She knew."

"Six years, and she knew what it cost me."

"She knew what it would be worth," I said.

At nine-thirty, I wore the green dress.

I had not planned to.

It had hung on the back of the spare room door since the night of the gala.

Eli stood behind me and did up the zipper, and I felt each of his fingers go up my spine.

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