Chapter 21: Celebration

Cyrus drove us to the bank in complete silence, and I did not break it.

He parked the Buick at the curb, came around to open my door, and stood there under the streetlight holding it with one hand.

"Molly."

"Yes."

"I held a man by the wrist, and it mattered to her."

"I know."

"I would like very much to kiss you now, and I am not sure I can stop."

I got out of the car and took his face in my hands.

"Then don't stop," I said.

He kissed me right there on Detroit Avenue, under the streetlight.

The Buick's door stood open, and a man walking a dog gave us a wide berth.

Then he swept me up in both arms and carried me up the steps and through the steel door.

The bolt slid home behind us.

The lobby was dim, with the one lamp lit, the long marble counter, the chessboard, and the lone armchair by the window.

He set me down on my feet in front of the armchair.

"I was going to cook," he said. "I have a pot on the stove."

"Of course you do."

"There are noodles."

"After."

"Yes. After."

I pushed him into the armchair.

It was a big leather thing, deep and old, and he sat down hard with his hands on the arms and looked up at me.

"I'm in charge," I said.

"I know."

"You were so good at the hearing."

"I was at the back of a room."

"You were standing in the middle of it. You did what I asked."

I peeled off my sweater.

I unhooked my bra and let it fall on the marble, and then my boots and jeans.

I stood in front of him bare in the lamplight.

He looked at me.

"Your clothes," I said.

He unbuttoned his shirt with fingers that weren't steady, and I helped, and then I straddled his lap on the leather.

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