Chapter 7: The Stairwell

At eleven on Friday night someone knocked on the fire door at the bottom of our stairwell.

Dani was at a study group.

I was coming back from the laundry room with a basket on my hip and my hair in a wet knot from the shower.

I pushed the door open with my shoulder.

Caleb stood on the landing with a duffel on one shoulder and his uncle's truck keys in his fist.

His eyes were red. He had a gray smear of road dirt along his jaw.

"It's June," I said.

"I know."

"I said August."

"I know. I drove thirteen hours with a gas station sandwich to hear you say it." He swallowed. "Hailey's here, Abby. That changes it."

I set the laundry basket down on the step.

"You don't get to decide that."

"No. But I wasn't going to sit in Ohio and wait for the phone to ring while she's in the next building."

"You said you didn't know she was coming."

"I didn't. I swear I didn't."

I crossed my arms. "She told me something."

He went very still.

"Tell me," he said.

"She told me what you said. I have it recorded."

"I never..."

"And that you made her promise never to tell me."

For a second his face just broke.

"My mom was never sick," he said.

"I know. I had dinner at your house every Sunday."

"Abigail." His voice cracked. "I never said that. Not in her kitchen, not anywhere."

"Then why would she say it?"

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