When Love Runs Dry novel · Chapter 12 of 32

Chapter 12: The Pump House

"Show me," I said.

Nolan dried his hands and got his phone off the top of the refrigerator.

He opened the email and set the phone on the table in front of me.

ALDER FALLS DAM. SPILLWAY GATE INSPECTION LOG. NOVEMBER 12.

East gate: serviced, lubricated, operated full travel. West gate: same.

At the bottom, the signature.

N. Wadsworth.

It was round and loopy, with a little curl on the end of the h.

"That's not how you sign," I said.

"How do you know how I sign?"

"You initialed every page of my plan five years ago. In red. You write like a fence post."

He made a face. Then he took a pen off the counter and signed a napkin.

NOLAN WADSWORTH. Block capitals, straight up and down.

"Like a fence post," I said.

"It's legible."

"It's angry."

"It's legible and angry."

I enlarged the signature on the screen with two fingers.

"A log's only a piece of paper," I said.

"If the gates were serviced, there's grease on the fittings and new marks on the gear. If they weren't..."

"They weren't."

"Then I need to see it."

He looked out the black window at the river.

"Forecast says ice by the end of the month," he said. "If we're going, we go soon."

"Tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night. Mae sleeps at your grandmother's. She'll be thrilled. Miss Opal lets her stay up for the late news."

We went up at ten the next night.

It was nineteen degrees and clear, with a hard white moon over the hills.

The dam sat above the town, the falls pouring over the spillway in a long white sheet.

The plant road was gated now, with a new sign. SPAULDING CAPITAL. NO TRESPASSING.

Nolan walked past it to a gap in the fence behind a sumac bush.

"I cut that in 2019," he said. "For emergencies."

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