Chapter 6: Postcards

Anthony found me sitting on the floor of his hallway at eleven that night.

I had the lighthouse postcard in both hands.

He stood in the doorway in a gray T-shirt and slacks, his hair wet from the shower.

"The door's locked," he said. "How did you get out here?"

"I couldn't stay in the guest room."

"What happened?"

I held out the card.

He read the front and the back. He read the return address twice.

He did not look surprised, and that was the first thing I noticed.

"Rowan gave you this?" he asked.

"He wants a signature for the rest."

"There are more."

"Two hundred and some." My voice shook. "She wrote to me for eleven years, and he told me she moved overseas."

Anthony crouched down in front of me.

His face had gone very hard, and I had the odd sense that the hardness wasn't for me.

"Lizzie," he said.

The doorbell rang.

We both looked at the door.

It rang again, three short pushes from someone close to losing their nerve.

Anthony stood and checked the screen beside the door. Then he looked back at me.

"It's Tobias," he said. "He's alone."

"Tell him to go home."

"He's carrying a box."

I didn't remember standing up. I was at the door before he had finished the sentence.

Tobias stood in the hall in a wrinkled suit with his tie pulled down.

He smelled like whiskey. His eyes were red.

He was holding a shoebox, a big one, tied with kitchen twine.

"Hi, Liz," he said.

Nobody had called me Liz since I was five.

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