Chapter 5: The Laundry Room

The washing machine in the basement of the Linden Street house ate socks and bucked on the spin cycle.

I was down there on Saturday afternoon with a basket and a bad attitude.

Cam was at the lab until six.

Jude had said he was going to the library.

I heard the basement door open above me and the stairs creak under big feet.

"I thought you were at the library," I said.

"I was," Jude said.

"It's closed for a function."

"What function?"

"I didn't ask."

He reached the bottom step, and he had a laundry basket of his own under one arm.

We both looked at the dryer.

It was a single dryer, old and loud, and it had exactly one working door.

"After you," I said.

"After you."

"Gentleman," I said.

"You're stalling."

He set his basket on top of the machine and started unloading it.

I started on mine, and for a minute the only sound was the drum.

I pulled a towel out of the wash, and then a bra, a plain black one, and a pair of my underwear tumbled after it.

Jude was standing right beside me, reaching into the same damp pile.

His hand closed on the strap.

He stopped.

I stopped.

He was holding my bra in his big hand, in the basement, in the yellow light, and his ears went red.

"That's mine," I said.

"I know," Jude said.

"I'm folding it."

"You're not folding it."

"I'm considering my options."

I snorted so hard I had to put my hand over my mouth.

He started laughing, a low, helpless laugh, and he put the bra on the dryer.

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