Chapter 24: It Holds

Lena's POV

The new rail was steel and oak, and it smelled of sawdust and salt.

I stood in the middle of the terrace in the late March sun and did not go near it.

The workmen had gone home an hour ago.

The sea was loud below the cliff, the same as it had always been.

I had asked for the east side to be finished last.

I wanted it to be the only part I walked to, and I wanted to walk alone.

In my bag was a single page.

It had come in the morning mail, in blue prison ink.

Brynn had written: I'm learning to cook in here. It's terrible. I'm sorry. B.

I had read it standing in my kitchen.

I would answer the second letter, if there was one.

I took one step toward the rail.

My legs were slow.

My body remembered, even if I had told it not to.

It remembered a hand in the small of my back, and the sound of my own shoe on the stone.

I took another step.

"You don't have to," said Malcolm.

He had come around the corner of the house, still in his coat.

He stopped at the garden gate and stayed there, with his hands in his pockets.

"I know," I said.

"I can wait here."

"I know that too."

I looked at him, and the fear loosened a little.

"I'd like you to watch," I said. "I don't want you to hold me. Just watch."

"I can do that."

He stayed at the gate.

I walked toward the east rail.

With every step my heart hammered harder.

Halfway there, I thought of my mother, who had loved this view.

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