Chapter 13: The Foyer

"Run," I said.

The word sat in the front hall between us.

"You've had a bag packed in your head since the day you married him," Margaret said. "I watched you carry it."

"I didn't know I had a bag."

"No. You didn't know much of anything, and you were so pleasant about it."

Lindsey put her coffee on the hall table without making a sound.

I reached into my shoulder bag and took out the lawyer's folder.

It was soft at the corners from the night I had spent holding it.

I held it out to Margaret.

"Read it," I said. "Then you won't have to wonder."

She took it by one corner.

She read the first page standing up, and then she turned to the last one and stopped.

I watched her find my signature.

"Dated the twelfth," she said.

"Yes."

"The morning of the accident."

"Yes."

Lindsey leaned in to read over her shoulder, and her eyes went bright.

She tried to fix her face, and she was too slow.

"Margaret," she said softly. "This changes things."

"It changes nothing for you," I said. "Sit down, Lindsey."

She stayed standing.

"I don't remember signing it," I told Margaret. "I remember my closet."

"I remember sixty hangers with your tags on them, and I'm leaving every one of them here."

"There is a friend I was told never to call, and I'm calling her tonight with all of you listening."

"Fourteen months ago I asked my husband for one thing, which was a place of our own."

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