Chapter 13: Rule One

I woke at dawn to the sound of paper.

Lena was sitting up against the headboard with the twelve pages in her lap.

She had put on her reading glasses, and she was following each line with one finger.

The quilt had slid to her waist.

Gray light came through the window behind her, and it lit the buzzed silver of her head.

I did not move.

She turned a page, and I heard her breathe in.

"You're awake," she said, without looking.

"How long have you been reading?"

"Since five."

"You didn't sleep."

"I slept three hours. It was the best three hours in two years."

She laid her palm flat on the page.

"Then I woke up and wanted to know what else she said."

"What else did she say?"

"Nothing else. That's the problem." Her voice cracked on the last word. "There are only the five notes."

I sat up and pulled the quilt around my chest.

Lena took off the glasses and pressed her fingers to her eyes.

"I walked past that desk a hundred times," she said.

"I printed the file from her laptop, and I never thought she'd made a second copy."

"Then the laptop might hold more than a file."

Lena lowered her hand from her eyes.

"I never opened her folders. I only wanted the lease."

"Open them today."

"Will you sit with me while I do?"

"Yes."

Lena's shoulders loosened with a shudder.

I took the pages out of her lap and set them on the nightstand next to the folded glasses.

Then I put my arms around her, and she turned her face into my shoulder and cried.

It was not the kind of crying from last night.

That had been a flood.

This was slow and tired.

I stroked her short hair, and I felt her back move under my hands.

"I'm sorry," she said into my skin. "I'm making a mess of you."

"Make a mess."

"It's your first morning here."

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