Chapter 24: Her Terms

Six weeks after our daughter was born, I asked Quentin to meet me on the fourth floor of Holloway Group.

The interim board had lent me the boardroom for an hour.

It was the same long glass table, with the same view of the river.

The carpet had been cleaned.

I came in first, in a clean gray cardigan, with the baby asleep on my chest in a sling.

My father followed me in with a leather folder under one arm.

Rhiannon came last, carrying a diaper bag and a pan of brownies.

She said no important document had ever been signed without sugar.

"This room smells like a dentist's office," she said, and took the chair by the window.

Quentin came in at four.

He stopped in the doorway with his coat half off.

He looked at the table, the chairs, the folder, and the faces turned toward him.

His eyes found mine.

"You said an hour," he said. "You didn't say what for."

"Sit down."

He sat at the head of the table, because it was the only empty chair.

I stood up.

I took the white folder from my father and set it in front of Quentin with a gold pen on top.

He looked at the pen.

"Open it," I said.

His hands were not quite steady.

The first page was a court notice with a seal.

"The divorce," he said.

"I withdrew it on Monday. My lawyer filed the motion, and the judge signed it."

"Nobody has to sign anything in this room about me leaving."

He did not breathe.

"You said it would be final on Friday."

"It would have been. I'm saying I changed my mind, out loud, in front of my father."

My father coughed into his fist and looked at the ceiling.

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