Chapter 9: Until Chicago

I hung up on Camille without saying yes.

The crew had gone back to work in the yard, loud about it, and the dock was empty.

Ben stood with his hands at his sides and waited.

"I want rules," I said.

"All right."

"This is until Chicago. In five days I sit in a room with Russell and I find out what he's hiding."

"And after?"

"After, you owe me nothing, and I owe you nothing."

He thought about it for a long second.

"I don't like it," he said. "I'll take it."

"Then say it."

"Until Chicago," Ben said.

I took his hand and walked him up the stairs to the loft.

It was one room over the shop, with a bed, a woodstove and a window that looked out over the water.

The sheets were white, and he'd made the bed that morning.

Of course he had.

He shut the door and leaned on it.

For a moment I couldn't move.

"Maggie."

"I haven't been touched in eight months," I said. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

"You don't have to know."

"My body doesn't feel like mine."

"Come here."

I crossed the room, and he took my face in both his hands and kissed me.

It was slow for about one breath.

Then his mouth opened against mine, and I made a sound I'd forgotten I could make.

I grabbed his shirt in two fists and dragged him down.

He tasted like coffee and sawdust and wanting.

His hands went into my hair, just as he'd said.

He pulled my head back and kissed my throat.

"Take it off," he said against my neck.

"You first."

He pulled his shirt over his head.

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