Chapter 11: Cold Water

Percy slept on the chaise by her bedroom window, with his coat for a blanket, and neither of them slept at all.

The lamp stayed off.

Rain ticked on the glass.

"You can't be comfortable," Imogen said into the dark.

"I'm fine."

"You're three inches too long for it."

"I've had worse."

A long pause.

"The bus stop," he said. "Number nine on the list. I asked you to marry me at a bus stop."

"You did."

"What did you say?"

"I laughed so hard I dropped my bag. Then I said no."

"Why did you laugh?"

"Because you'd known me for six weeks. And you had a coffee in each hand, and you didn't spill either one when you went down on your knee."

He made a sound in his throat that was almost a laugh.

It went quiet again.

"I'd like to remember that," Percy said.

She turned her face into the pillow and did not answer.

The next evening was the Foundation's harbor cruise.

Two hundred donors boarded a restored steamer at Pier Nine, and Edith's seat on the upper deck stayed empty because her doctor had said no to stairs.

Camille stood at the gangway with a clipboard and a bright smile.

"Imo," she said. "Percy. I'm so glad you came."

Imogen took her husband's arm.

His muscles were tight under the sleeve.

The ship cast off at seven. By eight the sun was gone, and the water around the stern was black.

Imogen stood alone at the aft rail with a glass of ginger ale, because she had come to watch and not to drink.

Behind her she heard heels on the planks.

She knew the voice before she turned.

"There you are, darling."

It was the woman in the lavender suit and the pearl collar, the one who had poured the wine.

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