Chapter 7: Warm Words

The knock came at seven on Friday evening, while I was eating dry toast over Vicki's sink.

Vicki had gone to her sister's for the night, and the apartment was quiet except for the radiator.

I opened the door on the chain.

Imogen stood in the hall under the yellow light with a large paper shopping bag on her arm.

"Please don't be angry," she said. "I only wanted to bring you something."

"How do you know where I'm staying?"

"People and culture knows where everyone sleeps. It's literally in the file."

She smiled, and I took the chain off.

I should have said no, but my feet hurt and she was holding a bag.

She came in and looked around Vicki's small kitchen with its mismatched chairs and its fridge covered in magnets.

"It's cozy," she said.

From the bag she pulled a folded blanket the color of cream.

It was cashmere, and the label said it cost more than my rent.

"It's for the baby," she said. "I had it made in the city. Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful," I said, because it was.

"Then sit. I'm going to make you tea, and you're going to let me."

She filled Vicki's kettle, found the mugs on the first try and set a cup in front of me.

She sat down across from me with her hands folded.

"I want to be honest with you, Avery," she said, "because I think you're a good person."

"All right."

"I've known about the marriage since the week it happened."

My cup stopped halfway to my mouth.

She took out her phone and set it on the table between us.

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