Chapter 12: The Light Stays On

Grandma went up to bed at nine and would not answer a single question about her will.

"Tomorrow," she said. "I'm tired, and I'd like to be right when I say it."

Alana called from the motel and cried for ten minutes.

I told her to sleep.

At eleven I stood at the sink and watched Nolan's cottage across the yard, where one window was lit.

The porch light was on behind me.

He had said if I needed anything I should walk across the yard.

I did not need anything.

I put on my coat and walked across the yard.

He opened the door before I knocked.

He was in a gray T-shirt and old jeans, barefoot, with a dish towel over his shoulder.

"Engberg."

"You said the light stays on."

"I did."

"I'm paying attention to it."

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then he stepped back and held the door open.

The cottage was one room downstairs, with a woodstove going and a bed behind a half wall.

There was a photo on the shelf of an old man in a boat with a young boy.

I looked at it so I wouldn't look at him.

"I'm not here to talk about Corbin," I said.

"Good."

"I'm not here to be pitied."

"I'm bad at it."

"And I'm not sure this is smart."

"Then pace yourself," Nolan said.

I turned around.

He was smiling, a real one, the first I'd seen, and it changed his whole face.

"That's the second time you've used that line," I said.

"I know. I'm out of material."

"Then stop talking."

He crossed the room in two steps.

He kissed me like he had on the dock, except that now nothing was going to interrupt.

My coat hit the floor.

His hands went under my sweater, rough and very warm, and flattened against my back, and I made a noise I didn't recognize.

"Cold," he said against my mouth.

"I walked here."

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