Chapter 9: Nobody Knows

On Wednesday night I searched my mother's bedroom for thirty-one letters and found a cedar chest I had never seen unlocked.

It sat at the foot of her bed with a brass lock the size of a coin.

I knelt in front of it for a long time.

The key wasn't on her ring or in her jewelry box.

It wasn't in the kitchen drawer where she kept spares for everything.

I put my forehead against the lid.

Then I went downstairs, and out the back door, and across the strip of grass.

Rafe opened his door before I knocked.

He was barefoot, in jeans and a gray T-shirt, and his hair was wet from the shower.

"Hattie."

"I don't want to talk about the letters," I said. "Or the diary. Or the hearing."

"Okay."

"I want to go upstairs."

He looked at me for a long moment, and I watched him understand.

"Nothing at school," I said. "Nobody knows. Not Bridget. Not anyone."

"Nobody knows."

"And tomorrow I'm still angry at you."

"I'd be worried if you weren't."

I stepped inside and shut the door behind me with my back.

He crossed the kitchen in two strides and took my face in both hands.

This time I kissed him first.

His mouth was warm and certain, and the kiss went deep at once, no questions in it.

He walked me backward until my spine hit the refrigerator.

I pulled his shirt up his ribs and over his head and dropped it on the floor.

His chest was hard and scarred with burns from a dozen kitchens.

I put my palms flat on it, and he shuddered.

"Upstairs," I said against his throat.

"Hattie."

"Now, Rafe."

He picked me up.

I wrapped my legs around his waist.

He carried me up the narrow stairs with my mouth on his neck.

In his old bedroom he set me on the edge of the bed and stood between my knees.

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