Chapter 11: Page 212

I did not open the envelope in the library.

I walked out the side door past Imogen, who started to say something and stopped when she saw my face.

"Let me drive you," she said.

"No. Go to the inn. I'll call you."

"Juliet."

"I'm all right. I need ten minutes by myself."

She let me go.

I drove two miles down the shore road and pulled into the gravel turnout above the lake. The ice was white under the moon.

I turned on the dome light and tore the envelope open.

Three sheets of paper slid out into my lap.

They were typed, and the top corners were creased from being folded.

In the upper margin of the first, in pencil, was a number: 212.

I knew the page before I read a line.

I had written it two years ago, on the night after Roz's grandmother's funeral.

Roz had slept in my guest room and cried through the wall.

I had typed until four in the morning. Then I had locked the pages in the drawer and told myself it was a story.

I read it now.

The girl kissed her in the dark of the dorm room with the radiator banging.

Rosa kissed her back for the length of one breath. Then she pulled away and said, "Go to sleep. You're drunk."

She was not drunk.

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