Chapter 22: The Long Way Round

Jonah took the coffee and held it in both hands without drinking it.

"You can say it," he said. "Whatever you came to say."

"No," Maren said.

He nodded slowly.

"That's the first thing. No." She kept her voice level. "I chose you last night. I'm not forgiving you this morning."

"I know."

"I'll say it again tomorrow. I'll say it every day until it stops being true, and you'll hear me say it."

"I'll hear it."

"Don't make a face. It isn't a punishment."

"What is it?"

"It's the truth."

She pushed her free hand into her coat pocket, on top of the gloves.

"That's the no. Here's the yes."

He waited.

"Owen's making lunch at the cabin tomorrow, though Ruth won't let him near a stove."

"And?"

"He wants to meet the man from the news. You're coming."

"Maren..."

"You'll sit at the table. You'll eat what he burns. You'll do the dishes."

"Yes," Jonah said. His voice cracked on it. "I'd like that."

"Good." She drank her coffee. "Don't get used to it."

They stood on the wet sidewalk in front of the police station.

For the first time in two weeks, neither of them was counting anything.

On Sunday the Netarts cabin smelled of woodsmoke and burned onions.

Owen stood at the stove in an apron that said Kiss The Cook, waving a spatula at the stove door.

"It sticks!" he yelled. "Ruth! It sticks!"

"Kick it on the left," Ruth called from the table, not looking up from the crossword.

He kicked it on the left. It opened.

Maren stood in the doorway with her coat half off.

She laughed so hard she had to hold the frame.

Jonah came in behind her carrying a bag of groceries he had insisted on buying.

Owen turned and looked him over from boots to hair.

"So you're him," Owen said.

"I'm him."

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