Chapter 21: Apartment 3B

The apartment over the bakery had one bedroom, one radiator, and a door that stuck in damp weather.

I moved into it on the first with two suitcases, Dad's old watch, and a box of wine books.

Bea carried the books up the stairs and complained about each step.

"You know what this place smells like?"

"Bread," I said.

"Bread. You're going to eat it every morning and I'm going to help you."

She set the box down and looked around at the bare walls, the folding table, and the secondhand sofa.

Then she hugged me, hard, and left to sleep before her shift.

At six o'clock I was alone with a bottle of red from Corbin's, two glasses, and a baking tray.

I had put the divorce papers in the tray.

I had not filed them.

I stood at the window above the street with the folded pages in my hand and watched the bakery's light go out.

The knock came at seven.

It was two raps, then one.

My knock, the one I had used on his door for three years.

I went down the hall and put my hand on the knob.

For a second I stood there, because I had been on the other side of this for so long.

Then I opened the door all the way.

Elliot stood on the landing in a dark coat with a bakery box in his hand.

He was not smiling, but his whole face was.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello."

"I came to the front. The baker said I could."

"You bought something."

"It's a loaf of bread. It was seven dollars. I'm told that's fair."

I took the box and stepped back.

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