Chapter 22: The Star Box

Clara's POV

The box came to my apartment in Baltimore in the last days of March.

It was wrapped in brown paper, with my father's square handwriting on the front.

It was a shoebox, taped twice.

I put it on the kitchen table and looked at it while the kettle boiled.

I had been in the fellowship for twelve weeks.

I had a one-bedroom on the fourth floor with a radiator that knocked.

I had a locker on the trauma floor with my name taped on it.

I had a fellow down the hall who ate my crackers and left notes on the fridge.

I operated four nights a week.

In the second week I had held a man's heart in my hand and kept it beating.

The surgeon beside me found the hole and closed it.

I had not thought of Hayes for the whole of that night.

I took it as a sign of something.

The kettle clicked off, and I did not move.

I knew what was in the box before I cut the tape.

My father had called on Sunday to tell me he'd posted it.

"He came to the shop," he'd said. "He brought what he promised. He signed what you asked him to."

"Dad."

"I'm only telling you. I took the money. I did what you said with it."

"Thank you."

"Open the box when you've a mind to. Not before."

I had a mind to now.

I cut the tape with a scalpel I kept for letters.

On top lay a long envelope, and I knew the thickness of it.

I took out the divorce papers.

My signature was on the next-to-last page, with the date from the recovery room.

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