Chapter 6: The Ladder

Carl drove me to the shop because I asked him to.

I did not want to go back to Darby's and lie in the dark with Cornelia's voice in my head.

I wanted to be somewhere that was mine, even for another twenty-nine days.

He parked his truck behind the building.

It was a white pickup with a chainsaw rack and a bumper sticker that said Ask Me About Oak Wilt.

"Is that a real question people ask you?" I said.

"Once a week. They're always sorry."

I laughed.

It surprised both of us, and it hurt my stitches, and I pressed a hand to my side.

"Careful," he said.

"I'm fine."

"You're not. You've been holding your side since the dinner."

I unlocked the back door and turned on one light over the workbench.

The shop smelled like cold stone and eucalyptus.

I went to the shelf above the cooler, where my mother's old glass vases lived.

He saw what I was reaching for before I had my hand up.

"No."

"Those are my mother's."

"The ladder's right there. Tell me which one and I'll get it."

"The blue ones. The four with the ridges."

He climbed up.

He was tall enough that he hardly needed the ladder.

I stood below holding it anyway, which was silly, since he weighed twice what I did.

"Listen," he said, handing the first vase down without looking at me. "About Friday. I said something to you at that counter."

"You said I counted months on my fingers."

"I did."

"You said I wouldn't give your sister a few weeks of discomfort."

He took the second vase off the shelf and held it.

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