Chapter 6: His Knees

I opened the door as far as the chain would let me, and no further.

Leo stayed on his knees on the wet boards.

He didn't try to push in.

Five years ago he'd have had the chain off its screws before I finished turning the lock.

"Daphne," he said again.

His voice had gone hoarse.

"Don't," I said.

"Don't say it like that."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like it's yours," I said.

He bowed his head.

Rain ran off his hair and dripped on the planks between his hands.

"I buried you," he said.

"The police said a car went into the water off the causeway road in the storm, and a woman was in the surf for two days.

"They wanted a family member to identify her.

"My stepmother went for me, because I couldn't."

He lifted his face.

It was wet, and not only with rain.

"I've stood at that stone every Sunday for five years."

I felt nothing.

I want to be honest about that.

I had been afraid for five years of how I'd feel when I saw him, and the answer was a cold, clean quiet.

"How did you find me?" I said.

"A man on the docks saw a woman in a magazine.

"A photo of tattoo artists in the Pacific Northwest, with a heron on someone's arm.

"I thought it was a ghost.

"I came out here to see."

He reached into his collar and drew out the chain.

On it hung a plain gold band, dull and nicked.

My ring.

"I had them drain the gravy that night," he said.

"The cook found it in the sieve.

"I've worn it every day since."

He held it out to me on his flat palm.

I didn't take it.

"You told your men to take me to the causeway," I said.

He flinched.

"Daphne."

"Say it."

"I told them to take you to the causeway," he said.

"And see I didn't come back."

His face crumpled.

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