Chapter 12: Mrs. Archbold

Phyllis left for Carol's sister's house at six, with an overnight bag and no explanation.

"Don't wait up," she said at the door. "Don't wait for anything."

Giles and I ate leftover chicken standing at the counter, an arm's length apart.

Neither of us mentioned the rule.

Afterward he carried the eight quilts in from the rental car and laid them across the guest bed, one over another.

The double wedding ring went on top.

The grass stain from the park still marked its edge.

"Your grandmother would've liked this one," he said, and touched it with two fingers.

"She'd have liked you."

"I wish I'd met her properly."

"She made you a pie once. Do you remember? The summer you fixed her porch step."

"Apple," he said. "I thought she was being kind."

"She was telling me something."

I looked at the quilt.

I looked at his hand on it, the long fingers and the white scar on one knuckle.

I thought about the kiss that morning, and the taste of coffee and mint.

I thought about the sound I had made in front of an officiant, a deputy and Dean.

I had set the rule.

It was my rule, so it was mine to break.

"Giles."

He turned.

"I said nothing at night."

"You did."

"I'm breaking it."

He didn't move.

"Tillie. You don't have to. We have a flight in the morning. We have all the time in the world."

"I know."

"I don't want you to do anything because of today."

"Because of the wedding?"

"Because of Dean," he said. "Because of the way you felt on that lawn. I'll wait. I've been good at waiting."

I walked across the room until I was close enough to feel the heat of him through his shirt.

I put both hands on his chest.

"I'm not doing this because of Dean," I said. "I haven't thought about Dean for an hour."

"Not once?"

"Not since you said no tax folders."

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