Chapter 4: Clause Four

Emerson lived on the fourth floor of a converted ice house on the Allegheny.

There were two bedrooms, as clause three required, and one very long kitchen.

"She told us to go home," Emerson said, locking the door behind us. "She says she won't die while we're watching."

"She sounds like a woman who negotiates."

"She taught me everything I know." Emerson dropped her keys in a bowl. "Do you have a bag?"

"I have a ring box with nothing in it."

"Then you're borrowing a runaway's clothes."

"I'm what?"

"My ex left a suitcase." She said it flatly, like a line item. "It's in the second closet. Take whatever fits."

The second closet held a grey sweater and a pair of pajama bottoms that fit me badly.

I came out of the bedroom wearing both.

She was leaning against the counter in a swim team shirt with her hair tucked behind her ears, holding two mugs.

"Tea," she said. "It's all I've got."

"Thank you."

"You look ridiculous."

"I know. I've seen the sleeves."

She laughed, a short real one, and then stopped.

"Sorry," she said.

"Don't be. It was a good laugh."

"My grandmother's dying."

"And you laughed at a man in the wrong pajamas," I said. "She'd want it. She likes people who are thrown out of things."

Emerson set down her mug and looked at me for a long moment.

"Clause four," she said.

"I read it."

"I need you to know I meant it. It wasn't a joke and it wasn't a test."

"Okay."

"I don't want you to think I'm going to cry on you at two in the morning and expect you to fix it."

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