Chapter 12: Two Mugs

Griffin sat on the kitchen island in the dark with the red mug in his lap, and waited for his wife to come home.

His phone lay beside him, paused on a small yellow square of paper.

At six the front door opened.

Imogen stopped in the kitchen doorway with her coat half off.

"Tobias," she said.

"He showed me the airport."

She hung up the coat very carefully.

She took off her shoes and set them in the tray by the door, because it was her house and that was the rule.

"Then you know I wrote the note," she said.

"I know your handwriting." His voice shook once, and he steadied it. "I want to hear it from you."

"Yes. I wrote the note. Grandmother put the page in the stack. I told her she could."

"You told her."

"I told her I wanted to meet you. She said I never would, because I'd sit in my office for another year."

Her hands were flat on the counter.

"She knew your father from the club. She said she'd arrange it. She didn't arrange a meeting. She arranged a marriage."

"And you let her."

"I was in the car outside the airport with my phone in my hand. I could have called her. I didn't."

"Why?"

"Because I was afraid you would say no."

Griffin slid off the island.

He stood close to her and did not touch her.

"Meet me where?" he said. "Where did you want to meet me, Imogen?"

She did not answer for a moment.

Then she reached into the high cabinet in the alcove, past the twelve white mugs, and took down the one that was not for use.

It was blue enamel, with a chip in the rim.

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