Chapter 21: Iris Leaves

Iris called me on Wednesday morning.

"I'm leaving," she said. "I don't know where I'm going. Could you stand at the end of the driveway?"

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Alasdair drove.

He parked at the curb and stayed behind the wheel with the engine running, because he said this one was mine.

The old house stood on its hill with every curtain drawn. One upstairs curtain moved when we pulled up and then went still.

Iris came out of the front door with a single suitcase.

It was the one she had arrived with at Colin's house the week of the funeral. It had a scuffed corner and a ribbon tied to the handle.

Colin came out behind her.

He was in his shirtsleeves, without a tie, and he stopped at the top of the steps with one hand on the railing.

"Iris."

"I'm not going to be long, Colin."

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know yet." She came down the steps one at a time. "A hotel. Somewhere with a lock I can turn myself."

"I'll drive you."

"No."

She said it quietly, and she did not look back.

"I'm not leaving for you," she said. "And I'm not leaving because of you."

She tightened her grip on the handle.

"I just don't want to be rescued out of one house and into another."

He stood with his mouth slightly open.

"You could call me," he said.

"I could."

"Will you?"

"I don't know," Iris said. "That's the first time I've said that to you in my life, and it feels very strange."

She walked down the long driveway toward me, pulling the suitcase.

When she reached the curb she set it down and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

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