Chapter 20: The Hood of the Car

Corwin's POV

I woke on Christmas morning with my wife asleep across my chest and nothing to give her.

I had not packed a present. I had packed for a fight, and I had not thought of anything else.

The window had gone pale blue. Snow was falling past it in big slow flakes, and somewhere below, a shovel scraped.

Tilda stirred.

"You're thinking too loudly," she said into my ribs.

"I've bought you nothing."

"I know. I didn't pack anything either."

"I wanted to tell you something instead. It's been four years, and I think it's time."

She lifted her head. Her hair was a mess, and her eyes were grey in the daylight.

"Is this the part where you tell me you killed a man?"

"No. It's worse. It's sentimental."

She rolled onto her elbow and waited.

"I didn't meet you at the clinic," I said. "The clinic is the story we tell."

"You came in about a dog, and I was there, and that was that."

"That's what happened."

"That's the second time I saw you."

She frowned.

"Seven years ago, in August, a rusty hatchback came up the road to the Red Mesa gate and stopped in the shade."

"The guard called it in. A woman, alone, with one bag in the back seat and a plate from Michigan."

"I went down to turn you away."

I could see it.

"You were asleep in the driver's seat with your mouth open. Your hands were shaking in your sleep."

"I stood outside the car for an hour."

"Then I told the guard that if anyone woke you, I'd take it personally."

"I sat on the hood until dark, so the dust wouldn't get in your mouth."

Tilda said nothing.

"You woke up at sunset and drove away. You never saw me."

"I found out later you'd taken a job at the clinic across town. I didn't go near it for two years."

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