Chapter 7: Watch Me

I went back to the apartment on Dearborn on Friday night, on my own.

Hank's wife had pressed the spare key into my hand without a word.

I told myself I was there for the winter boots I had left behind.

I told myself a lot of things on the bus.

The apartment was warm, and the overhead light was on.

Floyd stood at the sink with his sleeves pushed up, washing a single plate.

He looked up, and he did not drop the plate.

"You broke your terms," I said. "In the storm. On the porch."

"I did."

"I'm breaking mine."

I put the key on the counter next to the bread box, and I crossed the kitchen.

He turned off the water.

"Brin."

"Don't talk. You've talked enough for eight months."

I took his face in both my hands, and I looked at him.

Up close, in the light, his eyes were grey-green and clear, and they went over my face and would not stop.

I had never been looked at that way in my life.

"Watch me," I said.

"I am."

"Keep your eyes open."

"I wasn't going to close them."

I kissed him hard enough that he stepped back into the counter.

His hands came up under my cardigan, and they were wet from the sink and shaking.

I pulled his shirt over his head.

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