Chapter 11: His Bed

Colin was in the hall when I came home, with a book in one hand and his reading glasses pushed up in his hair.

He looked anxious, pacing the floor with restless energy.

"How was Veda?" he said.

"Good. She makes a fantastic chili."

"I'm glad."

I put my bag on the floor.

My whole body wanted to walk past him and shut my door.

Instead I said, "Where did I go on Friday morning?"

His thumb touched his jaw.

"What do you mean?"

"The day of the accident. Someone told me I left the house at eight-forty with a tote bag. Where was I going?"

"Who told you?"

"Does it matter?"

"Lindsey," he said, and a muscle moved in his cheek. "Katie, she says things."

"Where was I going?"

He looked at me for a long moment.

I watched him choose.

"I don't know," he said. "You didn't tell me. I was at the office by seven."

It was a lie.

I couldn't have said how I knew.

It was something in the way he said it, calm and quick.

I should have pushed.

Instead I stood in the hall and let him lie to me.

He was the man who had stood up at his mother's table.

I wanted one more night before I found out.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay?"

"Don't say it like that," I said. "I'm tired."

He put his book down on the hall table.

"Stay with me tonight," he said.

I looked up.

"My room," he said. "I've never asked you to come in. I always waited for you to."

"Why?"

"I was afraid you'd say no."

"Colin, I'm twenty-five years old and you've seen me naked in your kitchen."

"That's the point."

He held out his hand.

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