Chapter 24: Monday

On a Monday morning in late June I was at the Aldrich Grand by seven.

The baby was four weeks old, born at the end of May, and she had slept three hours the night before, which the pediatrician called wonderful.

Benton carried her in a sling against his chest, and he carried my bag in his other hand.

"Rule three," I said in the elevator.

"I know the rule."

"Nobody carries my bag."

"I'm carrying our daughter's bag," he said. "It's a loophole."

I had stopped arguing the loopholes.

The top floor was quiet, and the carpet still smelled of the new weave.

A man in work overalls stood at the door at the end of the corridor.

He had a drill in one hand and a small brass plate in the other.

"Ma'am?" he said. "I was told the wording was to be given to me by you in person."

"It's Abernathy," I said.

He looked at the plate in his hand.

"They've got it engraved with the other one, ma'am. The company's usual form."

"I know what they've got."

I took the strip of paper from my coat pocket, where I had written it the night before.

He read it, and then he looked at me, and he nodded slowly.

"That'll take me ten minutes," he said.

"Take twenty. I'll come back for it."

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