Chapter 13: What She Asked For

I did not go back to my desk.

I went up the stairs to the third floor with the folder still in my hand, and I stopped in the doorway of Declan's office at seven thirty.

He was standing at the window. He turned when he heard me and read my face before I opened my mouth.

"Sit," he said.

"I don't need to sit."

"Then I'll sit, and you can stand."

He sat. He put both hands flat on the desk and waited.

I told him all of it, fast and in order.

I told him about my mother on her knees and the statement she wanted signed.

I told him about the lawyer's letter on cream paper and the camera over the pantry cabinet.

"If I don't sign, they charge me," I said. "For the glasses."

Declan did not say it would be fine. He did not say he would handle it.

"What do you want to do?" he asked.

I opened my mouth to say that I would manage.

That was what I always said. I had said it at thirteen over a dead dog.

I had said it at fourteen over a bottle of cola that smelled like a garage.

I had said it in a dark field four nights ago, to nobody.

The words were already in my throat.

I could feel how small they were.

"I don't know," I said.

"All right. What's the first thing you'd want, if you could have one thing tonight?"

My hand was shaking on the folder. I pressed it flat against the cover and it kept shaking.

Declan reached across the desk and took the folder out of my fingers.

He laid his hand over mine, warm and steady, until the shaking stopped.

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