Chapter 15: Don't Sit Down

Tucker stayed on the porch step with his hat turning in his hands.

"I need until Friday," he said.

"For what?" I said.

"To work out how to look at you."

"You're looking at me now."

"I know." His ears went red. "It's not as bad as I thought it'd be."

"Friday, then."

He nodded, put his hat on, and went down to his truck.

This time the engine pulled away.

I did not see Byron again until ten-thirty that night.

I lay on top of the covers in the dark with my door standing wide open and the hall light off.

My heart was going so hard I could feel it in my teeth.

At ten-thirty his step came up the stairs, and it was slow.

He stopped in my doorway with nothing in his hands.

No glass of water, no tablet.

"Come in," I said.

He came in.

He pushed the door shut behind him, and the latch clicked.

He stood at the foot of my bed in the faint light from the window.

He wore an old grey t-shirt, and he was breathing hard from the stairs.

"Take it off," I said.

He pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.

He was broad and scarred and grey-haired across the chest.

A long white line ran down one rib, from a yard accident I had never asked about.

I sat up on my knees and put my palm flat on that line.

He shut his eyes.

"Eight months of Sundays," I said. "You wrote it in pencil. You were so careful."

"Roxy."

"You wrote that you loved me since before you should have."

"Since the church." His voice was raw. "I have not had a day of peace since."

"And you married her anyway."

"I loved her. I did. I wanted to be a good husband, and I was. And I wanted you, and I hated it, and I never touched you."

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