Chapter 19: Friday, Eight O'Clock

I had not set foot in our house since the night I left it.

The hall light was on a timer, the way I had always kept it.

The smell of floor wax and cold radiators was exactly the same.

I stood in the kitchen at ten to eight with the wrap dress on again, the navy one, let out at the side.

It was the only thing I owned that he had ever looked at twice.

Margaret had taken Ada to the studio an hour earlier, with a bag of bottles.

Her look said she would be awake all night and I had better not call.

At eight o'clock exactly, the bell rang.

I walked down the hall and opened the door.

Harrison stood on the step in the cold, with the key I had given him in his hand, unused.

"You have a key," I said.

"You said I'd come when I was invited."

"I invited you."

"Then I'll come in when you tell me to."

I looked at him on my own front step, in the same charcoal suit, with snow in his hair and his ears red.

He was thirty-five years old and the most careful man I had ever met.

"Come in," I said.

He shut the door behind him and stood with his back against it.

Neither of us said anything for a while.

"The doctor cleared me on Tuesday," I said.

"Lucy."

"I'm telling you so you don't have to ask."

His eyes closed, and he opened them again slowly.

"I'll stop the moment you say it. I will. You only have to tell me."

"I know." My voice shook. "I'm not going to say it."

I took his tie in my hand and pulled.

He came off the door at once.

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