Chapter 13: The Top Step

I stood up.

My chair scraped on the floor, and nobody else in the room moved.

"Ten days," I said to Costa. "You had my picture for ten days."

"Yes."

"And you sat down next to me."

"Yes."

That was all I wanted from him, and I found I didn't want any more.

Russell dabbed his mouth with his napkin.

"Keeva, dear, sit. I only wanted you to have the full picture."

"You wanted me to have it in front of my father," I said. "So it would hurt him too."

His smile did not change, which told me I was right.

My father put his spoon down.

He folded his napkin in thirds, the way he did at home, and laid it by his plate.

"Mr. Pickering, I've eaten your soup," he said. "We're leaving."

Costa half rose from his chair.

"Mr. Coombs."

"Sit down, son," my father said, not unkindly. "Not today."

Costa sat.

My father took my arm, and we walked out through the long wooden hall, past men in good suits who pretended not to look.

On the front steps, under the brass lamps, he let go of me.

"I'll bring the car round," he said. "Breathe, Keeva. That's all you have to do."

He went down the steps, slowly, an old man in his good suit, and I stood alone with my hands shaking.

The door opened behind me.

I didn't turn around.

"I'm not going to follow you down the street," Costa said.

"You're standing on the same step."

"Yes. I'll go back in if you tell me to."

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