Chapter 22: Statement

We reached the cabin a little after one in the morning, and neither of us had said anything since the interstate.

In the truck he had told me about his sister.

He said it in the parking lot of the Fairmount, with the engine off, because it was the same day and he had promised.

She was alive.

She was thin and quiet in a bed in Erie, and she had held up the scar on her thumb to a stranger and asked if Finnegan was coming.

I had put my hand over my mouth.

"Go in the morning," I said. "First light. Don't wait for me."

"I wasn't going to wait for you. I was going to ask if you'd come."

"Ask me later."

He nodded and drove.

Now the lamp was on in the kitchen, and the lake was black behind the screen.

I stood in the middle of the room in my borrowed black dress.

Finnegan locked the door and turned the bolt, and the sound was very loud.

"Willa," he said.

"Not yet."

He stopped.

I crossed the floor and pushed the jacket off his shoulders and let it fall.

My hands were steady, which surprised me.

"I'd like to give my statement," I said.

His mouth moved.

"Ms. Lowry."

"Special Agent. You said you'd take it after I'd said it."

"I did say that."

"Then take it."

He took my face in both hands and kissed me.

It was nothing like the night of the fever.

That had been fever and stolen minutes, and this was slow and sure and went on until my knees gave.

He backed me against the table, and the edge pressed the backs of my thighs.

I pulled his shirt out of his belt and found warm skin and the ridge of an old scar under my palm.

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