Chapter 11: The Bench

I went back to the bench that night.

It was the same bench outside the pharmacy, and the pharmacist had hung a small sign over it that said RESERVED, in marker.

I sat down and put my hands in my pockets.

I was still sitting there when I heard Mathias's boots on the pavement.

"You're supposed to be asleep," he said.

"You're supposed to be telling me things."

He stood in front of me with his hands in his army coat, and he looked at the bench.

"Alden said you didn't tell me why you were here," I said.

"Alden says a lot of things."

"Mathias."

"Tomorrow," he said. "Please. I swore I'd tell you, and I will."

"You swore you'd tell me by the hearing."

"The hearing ran long."

"That's a lawyer's answer."

He flinched.

Then he held out his hand.

"Walk with me," he said. "Let me give you tonight. I'll tell you everything in the morning. I swear it on my mother."

I looked at his hand for a long time.

I took it.

We walked down to the river, where the Smithfield Street Bridge rose over the grass and the water slapped at the stones.

There was no one around.

The air smelled like wet iron and spring.

Under the first stone pier, he took off his coat and spread it on the grass.

"Here," he said.

I laughed.

"On a coat?"

"On my coat."

He kissed me with the bridge over our heads and the river black beside us.

I felt his hands in my hair, and his breath, and his heartbeat through his shirt.

"I wanted to give you a bed," he said against my mouth. "A real one, with a view."

"I'd rather have the grass."

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