Chapter 17: Off the List

At school on Tuesday, Chef pinned the externship list to the corkboard by the time clock, and Rafe's name wasn't on it.

I stood in front of it with my coat still on.

Eight names were typed in a column, and mine was at the top.

Delaney's had a black line through it.

Under the list, in Chef's hand: Dillard withdrawn at his own request, Monday.

I found him in dry storage, between the flour bins and the rice, restocking shelves nobody had asked him to restock.

"You took yourself off," I said.

"Yes."

"Without asking me."

"It wasn't yours to answer. It was mine to give up."

"Rafe, it was a placement for a year in Cleveland. You were good enough to get it."

"If my name is on that list, every vote you win has a question mark next to it, because of me."

"That's not your call."

"It's my name."

He put down the flour sack and turned around.

"I'm not paying a debt, Hattie. I'm taking myself out of the way."

I stared at him.

I was angry, and I was not sure at what.

It wasn't the list.

He had stood in my mother's yard at dawn and fixed my step.

Now he had given up his future with a pen stroke on a corkboard.

He had not asked a thing in return.

I said, "Come to my house tonight."

His face did not change.

"After you finish the dishes," I said. "Come in the front door, and use the new step."

He came at seven.

I had my mother's kitchen lights on low, and I stood at the counter in my socks.

He wiped his boots on the mat and shut the door behind him.

"This isn't me forgiving you," I said.

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