Chapter 13: Mile Four

I did not remember taking the dress off.

I remembered Devon folding the report into my hand and saying, "Take your time, honey, I'll tell the seamstress you felt faint."

Then I was in my car with the green clip in one pocket and the paper in the other, driving north with both hands tight on the wheel.

I took the county road.

I did not decide to.

My hands did it, and I understood for the first time why a man might take an hour to go forty minutes.

The yard was dark when I got there.

The crew had gone home and the cradles stood in rows under their tarps.

The galley light was on in the Carol Ann.

I climbed the ladder and let myself in.

Gabe sat at the table with a cold cup of coffee.

He looked at my face and then at my hand, and I saw him know.

"Devon," he said.

"Devon."

I put the report down between us and smoothed it flat with my palm.

"Tell me it's wrong."

"It isn't wrong."

"Tell me it's a different Stoltz."

"Vic."

"Say it, Gabe. I want to hear you say it."

He pushed the coffee aside.

He kept his hands flat on the table, and I saw they were not shaking.

That frightened me more.

"It was February," he said. "Your father threw a dinner for the yard. Your mother came with him, and your father stayed late to close up."

"I was at my aunt's."

"You were. Your mother had one glass of wine and she was tired, and I had two beers and said I was fine."

"You said you were fine."

"I said it, and I believed it."

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