Chapter 9: Seven Months

I woke at five with the Ledger on my chest and a blanket over my legs.

Someone had tucked it in around my feet.

Ethan was in the kitchen, standing at Bridget's window with a mug in his hands.

The sky outside was still gray.

"You didn't go home," I said.

"I fell asleep in the chair." He put the mug down. "I wanted to be here if you woke up bad."

I sat at the little table and wrapped my hands around the coffee he poured.

"I keep looking at the R on the first page," I said. "Inez starts with R. So do a hundred names I'd be afraid to guess."

"Then don't guess yet," he said. "We'll match it against her handwriting when we have a sample."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Staying. The paper. The jar. You're a paramedic. You have a whole city of people who need you."

He didn't answer right away.

Then he sat down across from me, and he laid his hands flat on the table.

"Because of the seventh of March," he said.

I waited.

"That's the night of the fall. The call came in as a woman down on the bathroom floor.

We got there, and your husband met us in the hall."

"I remember his shoes," I said. "Polished."

"He told me you drank. He said it plainly, with a sort of sad patience, and he said you'd never admit it."

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