Chapter 15: Strike

"Because it says For T," I said.

I was still lying on his chest, and I said it to the ceiling of the tack room.

"It's my initial. I thought it was a present."

"It's Cordelia's ring," said Tiernan.

"It's Cordelia's present."

"It's the ring I gave my fiancée." His voice had gone careful. "And you put it on the morning you flew to her address."

"I put it on because it had my name on it."

"Or you put it on because she wore it first."

I sat up.

Hay stuck to my back, and the lantern swung a little on its hook.

"Is that what you think?"

"I think you want what she has," he said. "I've thought it for two years, Gwendolyn."

"Tiernan."

"I don't want to be the last thing you copy."

He was looking at the rafters, and his jaw had gone tight.

It was the grievance he had told me about in the kitchen, and I had walked right into it.

I did not argue.

I found my jeans in the blankets, dug out my phone, and opened the Matching Log.

"Search it," I said, and held it out. "Type your name."

He took the phone.

"Tiernan," he said, and typed it.

One result came up.

It was entry 306, dated two years ago, the night of the engagement dinner.

Cordelia: engaged, Tiernan O'Malley. Me: nothing to match. Cannot copy a person. Strike.

The line had been struck through in red.

It was the only struck-through entry among the four hundred and twelve.

"I couldn't log you," I said. "I tried that night. I sat in my car with the pen out for an hour."

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