Chapter 6: The New Lock

Callum was waiting on Bev's porch when I got back from the clinic.

He had a toolbox at his feet and a new brass deadbolt in a blister pack.

"Bev told me where you went," he said. "I'm guessing it didn't help."

"Lorraine has been calling that clinic every January for fourteen years."

His face did not change.

That was how I knew he wasn't hearing it for the first time.

"Come on," I said. "I'm going home."

We crossed the lawn together without talking.

Neil's car was not in the driveway, and neither was Lorraine's.

My key still worked on the back door, which was the only reason I was not standing in the snow.

The kitchen smelled of cold ham.

Nobody had cleared the dining room.

Six plates, the glasses, the napkin Lorraine had laid down.

My grandmother's crystal goblets stood in a row on the cloth, and one of them lay on its side with its stem snapped off.

"Get the front door," I said. "I want it changed before anyone comes back."

"It's your house."

"Then it's my lock."

He knelt at the front door with a screwdriver, and I went to the table and began stacking plates because I could not stand to look at it.

The broken goblet was under a napkin.

I picked it up without looking, and the stem went straight into the pad of my thumb.

I made a noise.

Blood ran down my wrist in a thin warm line.

Callum was across the room before I had finished swearing.

"Hold still," he said. "Let me see."

"It's a cut, it's nothing."

"Maggie."

He took my wrist in his hand and turned it palm up under the light.

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