Chapter 15: The Heel of the Loaf

I called Alec, and then I called Constance.

Then I sat on the top step of my own stairs with the cream card in my fist.

Alec arrived within minutes and found nothing to fight.

There was no forced lock, no footprint, and no note except the card.

"She has a key," he said. "Or she had one made when she brought soup."

"She took my grandmother."

"Marisa."

"She took her off my shelf."

He sat down next to me on the step and didn't touch me, because I had my hands up between us and he could see I wasn't finished.

At midnight Constance texted me.

*Mitchell left the house at 11 with his keys and the family iPad. Alone. I think he's going to her ranch.*

I read it twice.

Alec wanted to drive out there.

I said no.

I said I was done being rescued, and I'd wait one night to see what Mitchell did without being told.

Then I went down and started the morning dough.

My hands knew how to do that even bandaged, and my head didn't know how to do anything.

At 4:30 someone knocked on the back door of the bakery.

I opened it with flour on my forearms.

Mitchell stood in the alley with ash on his shoes and his tie gone.

He held Nonna's urn in both arms, wrapped in a gray blanket from the back of his car, and he held it high against his chest.

His eyes were red.

He did not say a word.

He walked in and set it on my steel counter, very gently, and stepped back.

I put my hand on the lid.

It was her.

It was the right weight, and it was cool, and I made a noise I hadn't made at the funeral.

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