Chapter 18: A Year of Saturdays

Kayla knocked on the glass with one knuckle.

I took my hand back.

Allison stood up and brushed off her knees as if nothing had happened.

"The police need a statement from you," Kayla told me. "And the paramedic wants to look at that hand."

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding through a silk scarf."

I looked down.

I was.

On Monday morning I sat in the lawyer's office with a bandage on my thumb.

It was the same gray office where I had signed the divorce petition.

The lawyer sat behind her desk and looked over her glasses at the door.

"Ms. Draper asked for this meeting," she said. "She says she has something to hand over. I told her the only person she can hand it to is you."

"Then let her."

Allison walked in wearing her white badge and a plain skirt.

She had a thick envelope in one hand and a smaller one in the other.

She did not sit.

"Condition two," she said. "I told you I'd work out who I owe."

"Go on."

"I owe your mother."

I said nothing.

"First." She put the small envelope on the desk. "This is a receipt."

"For what?"

"Your mother's funeral. The church, the casket, the cemetery, the flowers."

"I tried to bill it to the company that morning in the hospital hallway. You told me not to touch her. You were right."

"I paid it myself."

"With what?"

"I sold my car on Saturday."

I stared at her.

She drove a silver German sedan she had bought the year the company turned its first profit.

"You sold the car."

"It covered the funeral and the church fee. And I sold the watch my father gave me when I opened the first warehouse."

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