The Unsent Appeal novel · Chapter 4 of 24

Chapter 4: Saturday Rules

I texted him on Friday, because I didn't know how else to ask.

My father's workshop was in the basement, and I wanted whatever was left of it.

Elliott wrote back four minutes later: Saturday, nine to noon.

He opened the door before I reached the porch.

"Rules," he said, instead of hello.

"All right."

"Saturdays only, until you've got what you came for. I stay in the room with you the whole time."

"You think I'll steal from you?"

"I think I don't know you." He looked past me at the street. "And we don't talk about that night. Not yet. I'm not ready to hear your version."

I noticed the word, but I only nodded.

"Fine."

"Good," he said, and held the door.

The house was different inside.

The family photos were gone, and the walls were bare, and in the front hall a single lamp stood on a moving box.

It still smelled of my mother's lemon polish under the paint.

He led me down the basement stairs one careful step at a time, his hand flat on the rail.

I walked behind him and did not look at his leg.

My father's workshop was the back third of the basement, behind a plywood partition.

Everything was exactly where he had left it.

The pegboard still held his chisels in the outline he had traced in marker. The vise was still bolted to the bench.

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