Chapter 12: Before You Spoke

I woke up alone in his mother's bed.

The quilt was warm on his side, and there was a note on the pillow in a neat square hand.

Had to step out. Eat something. Back by noon. G.

I read it twice and smiled at it, which annoyed me.

I found his T-shirt in the closet, made coffee in a kitchen I had never seen, and sat on the back step in the sun.

He did not come back by noon.

At one, I called the number he had written under the note.

It rang out.

At two, my father called from the shop.

"Russell's office rang," he said. "They want us at the Beacon Club at four. A lunch. He says he's willing to talk about the note."

"Dad, no."

"It's a table and a pot of tea, honey. If he wants to talk, I want to hear it."

"I'm coming with you."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

I put on the green dress again, because it was the only thing I had, and I got a cab to the club.

It was a dark wooden building with brass on the doors.

My father was waiting under the awning in his good suit.

He took my arm, and I felt how thin it had gotten.

"Whatever he says," my father said.

"Whatever he says, Dad."

Russell had taken a private room at the back, with a long table set for four.

He stood when we came in.

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