Chapter 23: The Ring

I went back to Chestnut Hill on a Thursday, on my own, and rang the bell.

Nobody had to let me in.

I rang because I wanted him to open it.

Elliot opened it in his shirtsleeves with a pen behind his ear and a look of such plain delight that I forgot what I'd planned to say.

"You rang," he said.

"I'm a guest."

"You live here."

"I did. Today I'm visiting."

He stepped aside, grinning, and I walked past him up the stairs.

The east hall was bright.

The doorway at its end stood empty, with the bare hinge plates showing on the frame.

I stopped at the threshold.

He came up behind me and stopped one step back.

"Knock," I said.

"There's no door."

"Knock on the frame."

He lifted his hand and rapped on the wood, twice and then once.

"Come in," I said, and I turned around and pulled him in by the shirt.

The room had changed.

There was a second pillow on the bed, and a small lamp on the other nightstand that I knew had come from my old room.

The desk drawer was open.

He had left it open on purpose.

The ring lay on a folded white handkerchief in the middle of it.

I picked it up.

It was thin gold, nothing fancy, and it fit my finger when I slid it on.

"I'm not putting it on because I'm forgiving everything," I said. "I'm putting it on because I want to wear it."

"I know."

"Say you know why."

"Because you're the only one who gets to decide," he said, "and you decided."

I took his face in my hands.

"Take me to bed, Elliot."

He did not say a word.

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