Chapter 6: Out Loud

I did not wait until Monday.

On Friday at eight in the morning, before my first call, I drove back to Slavic Village by myself.

I had the estimate printed on the passenger seat.

I had Tobias's drawing folded in my coat pocket, though I did not plan to show it to anyone.

The woman opened the door in the same green cardigan.

She looked at me, and her mouth tightened.

"I'm not asking for more than the policy says," she said.

"I know," I said. "I came to say something, and then I'll go if you want me to."

She did not move out of the doorway.

I had practiced on the drive, and every version of it came out sounding like a script.

So I said it the way I would say it to Joan.

"My face doesn't move much. It's built that way, and my father's is the same."

"People think I don't feel anything, and I let them, because I never knew how to stop it."

She stared at me.

"Yesterday I wanted to sit on your bottom step and stay there, and my face did nothing."

Her hand came up to her mouth.

"I couldn't make my face show it. I'm sorry that it didn't."

I stopped, because my voice had caught.

She heard it.

I watched her hear it, and watched her look at my face again, and this time she was looking.

The corners of her eyes softened.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, honey."

She pressed the dish towel to her mouth, and she began to cry.

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